


Chaos and Kirkwall

by InyrilJace



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Flirting, Gangs, Sassy Hawke, Smitten Anders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23034427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InyrilJace/pseuds/InyrilJace
Summary: For Anders, working in his free clinic is the only way an apostate like him can hope to make a change whilst staying free. He just wants to drift under the radar, avoid drawing attention, and do what he can to help people.Enter Marian Hawke, a whirlwind of flirtation, sassy quips and belligerent trouble. Anders knows he should keep his distance, knows that nothing good can come of any alliance between them. Yet she wields a power that he could never reach on his own, and before he knows it, the temptation of that power becomes too strong to resist.
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: this fic was originally posted on 30/12/2016 but due to a misunderstanding with AO3, it was deleted. I will be re-uploading chapters on a regular basis.
> 
> Hey! Thanks for stopping by and checking out this little fic of mine. I would love to say that it will be regularly updated but unfortunately, due to my ridiculous life schedule, updates will most likely be sporadic. Still, if you like sassy Hawke and smitten Anders, this is the fic for you!

The small bell above the entrance rattled as the door swung open. The clapper had long since fallen out of the bell, leaving it to clunk hollowly in a sad echo of thin metal. Many barely even noticed it. Anders, attuned to every small nuance of the clinic, looked up as the bell let out its pitiful song. 

Two women hurriedly spilled inside, one leaning heavily upon the other. Anders was already moving out from behind his desk as they rushed toward him. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, directing them to an examination table without hesitation. 

"We were attacked," the older woman said. "Bethany was hurt badly. She needs healing, magical healing!" 

Anders faltered where he stood, a latex glove half-on his left hand. His heart pounded frantically in his veins but he kept his expression carefully schooled, a frown creasing his brow as he looked up at them. 

"I'm sorry, magical healing? You should take her to a Circle-licenced hospital, not a clinic like this. I'm not a mage, just a simple person trying to make a difference. If she does need magical healing then I cannot help you." 

He could do this, he could play the empathetic but innocent act. He had done it before, turning away Templar spies that tried to weasel him out. These two would be no different. No matter how they begged and pleaded, Anders could not give in to them. 

"You have to! We've heard stories about this clinic, we've heard about what you can do! We need your help." 

"I really can't-" 

"Please." The wounded woman was shaking as she reached out to him. Anders gasped as she touched his arm, a small jolt of what could only be latent magical energy passing into him. "I can't go there. They'll find out what I am. After all this time, I don't want to give up my freedom." 

Her brown eyes cut into him, beseeching him until Anders felt his resolve wavering. 

"You're an apostate?" he asked softly and she nodded. 

"And we want to keep it that way," said the other woman seriously. "Now help her, please. Her wound is serious and she is pathetic at healing magic." 

"Marian," protested Bethany with a roll of her eyes. 

"It's true, you are." 

Anders shook his head and finished pulling on his gloves. Was he really going to do this? After all his bad experiences with Templar spies, was he really willing to risk it all on these two women? They were probably dangerous! But if they were not and he sent them away, Anders would hate himself. 

"Let's see the wound first." 

Bethany pulled away a hastily-tied jacket from around her left thigh, revealing a deep and ugly gash. Blood spilled thickly and Anders caught himself casting a mild healing spell on reflex. That level of bleeding was a serious concern and he gently probed at the injury. Bethany made a noise of disgust and pain, turning her head away. 

"How bad is it?" asked Marian. 

"Not as bad as it looks. None of the tendons or major arteries are damaged. It's simply a case of cleansing the wound, putting some stitches in and letting her rest to recover from the blood loss." 

"That's it?" Marian sounded surprised and Anders shot her a reassuring glance. 

"Believe me, I've seen far worse. Now, to avoid using internal stitches I'll … use my magic to heal some of the wound. But the rest-" 

"It's okay if you don't heal all of it," Bethany said. "If word gets out about our fight, I'll be less suspicious if I'm still sporting an injury." 

"Fight? I thought you said you were attacked." 

The two women exchanged a glance and Anders felt a cold weight settle in the bottom of his stomach. Of course they were spies, he should have known better! He tensed, letting his magic fill his veins as he glanced back at his staff. It was hidden from view by a shelf but he should be able to get to it in time if only he just- 

"We _were_ attacked," Marian said and Anders whipped his eyes back to her. "And we defended ourselves. As to whether the fight was provoked or not …" She glanced at Bethany who failed to suppress a small smile. 

Anders frowned at them. None of this was quite adding up. Any spies would have tried to attack him by now, so why were they sharing guilty smiles and shifting awkwardly? It hit him all of a sudden and he felt stupid for not having thought of this before. 

Thugs. They were street thugs. 

"You're not spies for the Templars, are you?" Anders asked bluntly. The two women stared at him incredulously. 

"Spies?" echoed Bethany. 

"Of course not!" Marian protested. "We simply have a proclivity for … oh, how would you describe it?" 

"Trouble?" offered Bethany. 

"Yes, exactly. Trouble!" 

Anders shook his head as relief washed through his body. No spies would be as sheepish yet cheeky in their interactions with him. If Marian and Bethany were lying to him, they were doing an incredible job of it. Yet Anders' instincts were relaxing more and more in their presence. Somehow, he knew these two were no threat to him. 

"Well, that's reassuring. Trouble, I can deal with." Flashing a wry smile, Anders turned his attention back to Bethany's wound. It was a simple task to slow the bleeding, heal the worst of the internal damage and stitch it up. Marian hovered over his shoulder, watching intently. Bethany refused to look, her skin taking on quite a pale shade until Anders urged her to lie down. Half an hour after they entered his clinic, Bethany was standing up despite Anders' protests that she should stay and rest a while. 

"Really. You've done more than enough," Marian said as Bethany leant heavily on her. 

"It's best we get out of your hair. We wouldn't want to bring the fight into your clinic," Bethany added. 

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Anders asked. "If there are still people after you-" 

"Believe me, this isn't the first tight spot we've been in." Marian flashed a smile and Anders felt a small knot growing in the pit of his stomach. "Now, how much do we owe you?" 

"Nothing." He held up a hand as Marian opened her mouth to protest. "It's a free clinic, not a hospital. Just take care of yourselves and that will be payment enough." 

Marian relented and nodded. Tightening her arm around Bethany's waist, she turned towards the door. 

"Thank you, uh-" 

"Anders." 

Thank you, Anders." 

And they were gone. Anders stared after them a moment before catching himself and directing his attention onto cleaning up the mess from Bethany's wound. Something clinked as he shifted the spare bandages and he stared down in disbelief. A small pile of money had been left there and Anders knew without being told who had left it. 

But when? He had been watching them both closely and he had not seen Marian even shift her weight in the direction of the spare bandages! 

Letting a wry smile cross his face, Anders shook his head and concentrated on his work again. He was probably better off not knowing. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hanged Man was highly disreputable and that was exactly why Hawke loved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing one of my absolute favourite characters in this chapter and giving a tiny bit more backstory/world setting as well. Enjoy!

"Athenril's been sending runners over our turf again. No violence yet but it's inevitable." 

"Athenril is not looking for a fight, she's probably just trying to get my attention," Hawke replied lazily. Her feet were kicked up on the table in front of her, a pint of beer in one hand and a small dagger in the other. 

"You sure that's all she's trying to do?" retorted the dwarf across from her. Varric was sarcastic, witty and as sharp with his words as he was with his smirks. He was also shrewd, normally making him an excellent judge of character. Yet in this case, Hawke felt confident in her assessment. 

"Completely sure. If Athenril wanted to steal territory from us, she'd invite me to dinner and send some of her lackeys to infiltrate our base on the same night. That's how she works, smiling to your face while her left hand rips the floor out from underneath you." 

"You make her sound so charming," Varric said and Hawke grinned. 

"When she wants to be. Honestly, she's still bitter that I used the money I made from my jobs with her to scratch out some territory of my own. And we're thriving, always rising in power. She thinks I'll be making a bid for her regions soon, which is ridiculous. I've got enough right here; my hands are already full! I'd need to take on more workers to expand but that would give you more work to do. And we both know how much I'd hate to overwork your precious brain!" 

"I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered," Varric said with a wry smile. 

"It's a talent of mine," Hawke declared and raised her glass. "To us and our witty words of wonder!" 

"I'll accept the toast, but only to shut you up." 

They clinked glasses and both tossed back a deep swig. Varric returned to making errant notes in his ridiculously messy ledger. Hawke had no idea how he kept track of anything in there, yet Varric insisted there was a method to his madness. Turning away from her good friend, Hawke scanned her gaze across the room. 

They were in an old pub, wall plaster cracked and peeling, lights dim and flickering or failing to come on at all. All the furniture was wooden and had seen better days; most had been patched back together several times. The place was too dismal to even call a dive bar, the air fumed with constant undertones of stale alcohol, sweat, and even a little piss. 

The Hanged Man was highly disreputable and that was exactly why Hawke loved it. 

Her eyes landed on her sister as she learnt against the bar, chatting happily with some of the lower gang members. Bethany smiled and laughed freely, utterly oblivious to the lustful gazes being sent her way. 

Hawke sighed and flipped the dagger in her hand. When was her sister going to learn? 

The dagger flashed out of her fingers with alarming speed, slapping across the wandering hand of the man closest to Bethany and thudding into the wood of the bar. The man cried out, both in alarm and pain. The blade had left a slice across the back of his hand and he clutched his wrist, staring in shock as blood dripped freely. 

"Marian!" cried Bethany in horror, quickly snatching some napkins off the bar to staunch the blood flow. 

"What?" she replied in her best innocent voice, feigning wide-eyed confusion. 

"I thought I told you to stop doing things like this!" Bethany scolded and Hawke rolled her eyes. 

"And I've warned everyone in here against getting frisky around my baby sister." 

"I'm not a baby! And he wasn’t getting frisky!" 

Hawke snorted and Varric covered his face to hide a smile. 

"Sure, that’s why his hand just happened to be reaching for your-" 

"Marian!" 

She laughed freely now, ignoring the scowls that her sister kept shooting her. Bethany murmured an apology to the man and tried to summon some healing magic into the wound. Yet Bethany's skill truly did not lie in healing, and her efforts made little difference. 

"That's something else we need," Hawke said as she watched her sister. 

"Hmm?" came Varric's distracted reply. 

"A healer." Varric looked up now and Hawke motioned to the scene at the bar. "Look. She's pathetic! Can't even heal a tiny scratch like that!" 

"Don't let her hear you saying that," Varric warned. "She might not be able to heal but she can roast you from a mile away!" 

"Such a shame she wouldn't be able to heal me afterwards, otherwise I'd be tempted to let her." 

"You know I've been telling you this for a while now?" 

"What?" 

"This! To get a healer!" Varric sighed and laid down his pen. "I told you with the rate that we're bringing in casualties, you need someone on site. At least on call, if you don't want them on site all the time! Why is it you don't listen when it's my idea, but as soon as it's your idea you're willing to go ahead with it?" 

"Timing, Varric! It all comes down to timing!" Hawke clinked her glass against his, hiding a snicker when some of the beer slopped over the edge and narrowly missed his precious ledger. Varric shot her a glare but there was no heat in it – only sharp curiosity. 

"You wouldn't be bringing this up now if you didn't have a solution in mind. Which means you already know of a healer." 

"Remember when we got into that tousle with the smugglers last week? Bethany took a bad gash to her leg?" she asked, drumming a finger on the side of her glass. 

"Oh yeah. It took me hours to clean up that 'little mess', as you put it." Hawke flashed him a grin before continuing. 

"I took her to a healer that day, a free clinic. Just in Darktown, actually. He tried to play dumb at first but we weaseled the truth out of him. And he was competent, which is the most important thing, really. Maybe we could convince him to come on board with us." 

"So I take it I should be preparing another payment slot in the books?" Varric asked and Hawke gave him a wide grin. 

"Why not? It doesn't hurt to be prepared!" 

Varric snorted. 

"You say that now but judging by the trouble you manage to get yourself into, I wonder if you even know the meaning of 'prepared'." 

Hawke flicked her drink coaster at him before knocking back the last of her pint and dropping her feet off the table. 

"Well, I'm off then. No time like the present for recruiting!" 

"Just make sure the poor sod actually wants to be recruited before dragging him back here and announcing it to the whole gang," the dwarf warned. 

"Varric, what little faith you have in me! Of course he'll want to be recruited! By the time I'm through with him, how could he possibly say no?" Fluttering her eyelids and sashaying her hips, Hawke left Varric chuckling behind her. She smiled at Bethany, glared at the man with the wounded hand, then left the Hanged Man with an off-key whistle on her lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders reluctantly shook her hand, trying not to notice how perfectly her slim palm fit in his. She was a distraction, the worst timed distraction he had ever encountered!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more action, a little more flirting.

Anders peered around the corner, heart thudding in his chest as he watched the Templars force their way into the clinic. The sleek silver of their body-armoured uniforms, the cold grips of the guns and tasers in their holsters … He shuddered, forcing the memories aside.

One Templar glanced back and he yanked away, breath frozen in his lungs as he flattened himself against the wall and waited, listening. He had been seen, surely he had been seen! The Templars would come for him, they would find him, and after all this time-

"Hey." A hand brushed his arm, friendly and innocent yet he was too blinded to see it. Anders lashed out, energy crackling through him as he pinned his attacker against the wall, his hand clamped tightly over their throat.

A woman stared back at him, wide-eyed and gasping for breath. Yet not entirely defenceless, Anders realised, as he looked down and saw the point of the dagger she had shoved against his side.

_Threat. She is a threat!_

No, he needed proof first! Anders looked her over, struggling for control. Her clothes were dark and non-descript, just a normal person's clothes. There was no gun, no hidden taser. No Templar insignia anywhere.

_Not a threat, Justice. She's not a threat!_

"Anders," she said, and though her voice was steady there was fear in her blue eyes. "Let me go. Now."

He let go and stepped back, hands shaking as he stared down at them. There was a crash from the clinic and he glanced over before dropping himself back against the wall beside her. Taking a deep breath, Anders slowly exhaled and felt his self-control coming back to him.

"You're that woman. From last week. You left me money," he said simply, voice a little unsteady.

"Yeah, I did. And I thought you were just a kind-hearted apostate. But it seems there's a lot more to you than meets the eye."

So, she had seen it, then. Anders cursed softly and shot her a side-long glance. The woman – Marian, that was her name – stared back at him with less fear now and more curiosity. But edged in caution. Her eyes flicked over his form, probably looking for the cracks that had been there moments ago. Then her eyes whipped back up to his own, and narrowed as she stared, intently.

"What happened to you just now?" she asked and Anders grimaced.

"As much as I would love to have this conversation, now is not exactly a good time," he said and peered around the corner again. The Templars were still in there, tossing things about carelessly and ruining his carefully laid system. He felt his hands clench, felt the dull presence in the back of his head rise to a strong throbbing.

_Not here, not now!_

_But this is unjust!_

"Ooh, Templars," Marian said as she leaned around him. Anders reared back, pulling her with him and pushing her further away. "You're that good at making friends, huh?"

"You should go," Anders said firmly. "Before anyone notices, leave."

"Why would I leave when I have not gotten what I came here for, yet?"

He glared at her, feeling frustrated now. Anders did not want to be distracted by this cocky young woman, he wanted to focus on these Templars and how to avoid encountering them.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," Marian said and tugged on his arm. "You probably shouldn't hang around waiting for them to come out. I mean, I'm assuming they're looking for you. So let's go. Come back in a little while and they'll be long gone."

"I can't just leave my clinic!" he hissed, annoyed by the mere suggestion. Marian sighed but Anders had already turned away, watching the Templars again.

"There's nothing here," came a faint Templar voice. "No sign of magic use anywhere."

"Are you certain?" asked another voice, deeper and older than the first. "Be absolutely certain! We cannot afford to make any mistakes.

"No sir, there's nothing. No lyrium anywhere."

The voices faded and Anders longed to drift closer and overhear more, but that would be far too foolish. He pulled back again and heaved a sigh, relieved yet still rattled.

This was not the first time the Templars had found and searched his clinic. He doubted it would be the last.

"Can we go yet?" Marian asked and he jumped, surprised that she was still there.

"Why would I go anywhere with you?" Anders asked.

"I'm not a Templar, for starters. And I have an offer for you. An offer that would ensure you don't have to worry so much about things like Templars."

Anders stared at her, utterly bewildered and struggling to refocus his distracted mind.

"I'm sorry, uh-"

"Hawke," she said and offered a hand.

"Hawke? I thought that other girl called you Marian?"

"She did. Marian is my first name. But people outside the family call me Hawke."

Anders reluctantly shook her hand, trying not to notice how perfectly her slim palm fit in his. She was a distraction, the worst timed distraction he had ever encountered! If only he wasn't hiding around the corner as Templars trashed his clinic, he would love to have a conversation with a beautiful-

"Wait, did you say _Hawke?_ " he asked, eyes widening at the notion. She smirked, crinkling the red paint that was smeared across her nose.

Why did she have red paint smeared across her nose and why had he not questioned this before?

"I was beginning to wonder how long you'd been in Darktown, if you hadn't heard of Hawke," she replied. "Good to see my reputation still precedes me. So, what do you say? Got five minutes of time to spare for me?"

"Uhh …" Anders stared at her, completely thrown by this revelation. Hawke, she was _the Hawke?_ He had heard the talk – everyone in Darktown and even Lowtown had! Hawke had shown up one day and staked out some territory, right in the middle of the three largest, most violent gangs in Lowtown. Within a month, one gang had up and left, one had assimilated under Hawke's leadership, and the third had been slaughtered.

The only thing Anders knew for certain about Hawke was that Hawke was volatile, fearless, and destined to command power. And now here she was, standing right before him and waiting for an answer.

"I … guess?" he finally said and Hawke flashed her blinding white smile at him.

"Great. Let's go!"

She seized his hand and dragged him away before he could change his mind. Anders stumbled after her, thoughts still trying to catch up as he glanced over his shoulder again and again, half-convinced that the Templars would show up right now and arrest him.

Hawke led him through the narrow, fetid streets of Darktown, to a small lean-to on the side of a brick building. The bricks were crumbling and the iron of the lean-to looked almost completely rusted through, but there was still a woman standing behind a dilapidated bench and serving drinks out of it. Hawke bought two coffees, shoved one in Anders' hand, then motioned for them to sit on two sagging milk crates that had been kicked aside.

"You do know that the coffee down here tastes worse than piss, right?" Anders asked her with a dubious expression on his face. Hawke smiled again and knocked half the drink back in one go.

"I know. But I don't like it when Evelina begs for money and she doesn't like accepting charity, so I always buy her drinks. Even if they do taste worse than piss." She tipped the remainder of her drink onto the ground before placing the cup down gently beside the crate.

"You wanted something from me?" Anders asked, trying to focus on the task at hand. His mind felt unbelievably scattered right now and he wished Justice would help keep him on track for once. Unfortunately, Justice always seemed more disposed to distracting rather than helping.

"I did," Hawke agreed and leant forward, resting her arms on her knees. "You know who I am, which saves me the trouble of explaining. And I know what you are, for the most part. I also know of your skill as a healer, especially after firsthand experience. Now it seems to me that my … organisation, let's call it, could benefit from the skills that one such as yourself would bring."

"I'm not looking to join a gang," Anders said firmly. "I've been trying to avoid that since I first ended up in this hole."

"Calling my organisation a gang is so crude," Hawke protested. "We are nothing like those half-rate gangs that spill blood at the slightest provocation and care nothing for the innocents caught in between. Our focus is the people of Lowtown and Darktown. It always has been. We're not a gang, Anders. We're a revolution."

There was a spark in her bright blue eyes, a shining light of passion and conviction that called to him. Anders wanted to believe – it would be so wonderful to believe – but he had been burned in the past and was not willing to risk himself now.

Even if Justice was stirring inside him, urging him to listen to her.

"What you want me to get involved with is highly illegal."

Hawke snorted in amusement.

"Like being an unlicenced spirit healer and undocumented Fereldan immigrant isn't illegal? Please Anders, don't insult me by pretending the illegality is what's stopping you."

"I already told you, I don't want to get involved with any gangs. And you told me yourself about your proclivity for trouble."

"Touché," she admitted and sat back, an assessing look on her face. "Alright. I can see I won't win you over so easily. How about this? As one of my crew you will receive payment in both coin and goods, along with protection from forces such as Templars."

"How can you guarantee something like protection? You're not exactly above the law."

"Well, why don't we put my protection to the test, hmm? Evening, Templars!"

Anders flinched, eyes widening in horror as his head swivelled around to look behind him. There, approaching from the direction of his clinic, were half a dozen Templars. Their weapons were holstered but they were still _right there_ , in easy reach if any of them suspected what he was. Anders did not want to take that chance.

"Are you insane?" he hissed, fear coiling in his gut. Justice was stirring now, pressing hard and resurrecting that throbbing headache once again. Hawke simply shot him another smile and waved to the Templars, who had turned and were now approaching them.

No. Oh, no, this was not going to end well! Justice fought harder for control, anger burning in him and Anders struggled to contain him. After all this time, he would not give up so easily! Neither to the Templars or Justice!

"Let me guess, just minding your own business, Hawke?" asked the first Templar, an older man with a mean sneer on his face.

"Of course! You know me, I love to come down to Darktown and relax. Really clears out the sinuses, you know?"

"And who's your friend? Someone totally innocent, I suppose?" The sarcasm in the Templar's words were so heavy that Anders nearly shuddered on reflex.

"He is, actually!" Hawke declared and reached out, lacing her fingers through his. Anders was too close to panicking to look scared or shoot her any confused glances. He simply stared up at the Templars, hand gradually tightening on hers. "We've just been wandering around, enjoying a nice evening out together."

The first Templar narrowed his eyes.

"Haven't seen you around here before," he said to Anders. "I'm guessing you haven't been scanned or had your papers checked, either."

Anders' heart rate rocketed and he could feel Justice underneath his skin, straining to get out. Any moment now the cracks would form and his eyes would blaze with other-worldly power. He would rage and scream and attack, slaughtering a whole squad of Templars and thus bringing the ire of the Gallows down upon himself.

Hawke's hand tightened on his.

"Now, now, Ser Alrik. You wouldn't want to go and ruin a lovely evening like this, would you?"

_Ser Alrik? Dear Maker, she's thrown me straight into the lion's jaws!_

The Templar glared at Anders, a sharp response hiding behind his bared teeth. But then he looked away, glowering at Hawke with pure hatred.

"I've seen your face, boy," he said, eyes flicking back to Anders. "Best be sure I never have cause to see it again!"

The Templars turned and marched away, Ser Alrik leading them with a rigid posture.

"Bye! Have a nice patrol!" Hawke called after them before turning back to Anders. "See? I told you. Absolutely nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" He yanked his hand away, cursing sharply as he trembled. "You … you just … That was … He's seen my face now! Don't you know what you've done? He'll come back for me!"

"Anders, hey! Calm down. As far as he's concerned, you're under my protection now. Which means he can't touch you. He knows that and he won't."

"Don't you know who that was?" Anders snapped, his voice rising with hysteria. "Ser Otto Alrik, most vile and cruel Templar under Meredith's command! He won't let _your protection_ stop him from coming back for me! He never lets anything stop him!"

"In the past six months I have successfully prevented Alrik from taking no less than eleven apostates off the streets," Hawke shot back. "He is powerful, yes, but he cannot contend with me. Not without orders from the Knight Commander, and she doesn't care enough about Darktown to approve his requests."

"But …" He stared around, searching for the words. He was still shaking, his nerves shot to hell. "How … how does this work?"

Hawke smiled and gently laid her hand over his again.

"I'll explain, in time. But for now I think you could use a drink. So why don't you come back with me and we can sort out the finer details over a few rounds. Hmm?"

Exhaling a heavy breath, Anders slowly nodded. He was not sure that being around Hawke was good for his well being, yet he did not feel safe enough to return to the clinic right now. Not after what she had done. So he would go with her, just this once. But he was not agreeing to anything. He nodded again and absently lifted the coffee to his lips and took a small sip.

Sputtering, he spat it out and dropped the cup. Hawke laughed.

"Come on, let's go get something to wash the piss taste out of your mouth!"

As she tugged him along by the hand once again, Anders stared down at her gentle grip and wondered why he let himself get dragged into these things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shifted again, gaze hurriedly dropping. But for a split second, Hawke could have sworn she saw a flash of blue.

Anders was … skittish. He held his broad shoulders tight, as though always expecting an unseen attack to come at him, and his eyes roved constantly, searching every shadow they alighted on. His ragged hair was haphazardly pulled back into a less-than-effective ponytail, golden wisps of it falling free to frame his angular face.

Hawke tore her eyes away, mentally scolding herself for staring as long as she had. It wasn't professional!

They reached Lowtown just as the stars were coming out, barely visible through the thick smog that covered the slums from the industrial area. Anders hesitated for a moment but Hawke pulled him on.

"Not much further," she said in a bright voice. Striding down winding alleys and crooked streets, she led him straight to the entrance of the Hanged Man, pushing the heavy door open with one shoulder to usher him in.

"What is this place?" Anders asked as he ducked his head to avoid the low doorframe.

"Oh, please. Don't tell me you've been in Kirkwall all this time and you've never visited the Hanged Man?"

"I don't really get much chance to get out of Darktown, so …"

Hawke shot him another glance, mentally reassessing him. Anders seemed the kind of person to be vocal about his passions, and to have political passions. But if he never made it out of Darktown, not even to Lowtown, maybe he was not as much of an activist as she had taken him for.

"C'mon, let me get you a drink. Corff! Two right here, straight up!" she called to the bartender before sitting at a small round table. Anders sat opposite her, rubbing his hands nervously on his jeans as he glanced around.

"I wouldn't happen to have been led straight into your organisation's headquarters, would I?" he asked in a low voice and Hawke raised her eyebrows.

_Sharper than he wants me to know,_ she thought to herself.

"You would, actually," she confirmed before smiling up at Norah as she delivered the drinks. The waitress ignored her, just like always, dumping the drinks and stalking away with a scowl on her face. Anders picked his own up with barely a glance at it, his focus drawn away to examine the pub. "This is our base of operations. It's still a functioning pub, but Varric owns the place and he's my bookkeeper, so this is where we work from. It's convenient, really, being able to come straight back to a cold drink after a rough day."

"I thought you said you were going to find me something to get _rid_ of the piss taste," Anders said, hurriedly lowering his drink as he grimaced. Hawke grinned.

"Trust me, it'll grow on you."

"I don't think I want to be here long enough for that to happen." He looked up then, their eyes meeting through the dim light of the pub. Hawke felt her breath catch in her throat; his eyes seemed positively molten as the golden bulb behind her reflected in his irises. His skin, which had seemed sallow and thin outside, now glowed with warm tones, stripping years off his face.

She forced herself to look out across the pub, fighting back the hints of a blush that threatened to rise up her neck. What was wrong with her, on the verge of turning scarlet just from looking at a man, like she was thirteen years old all over again!

"So, uh, weren't you going to explain some things to me?" Anders prompted and Hawke nodded, grateful as the moment shattered.

"The truth of the matter is that my organisation needs a healer. We've got a few mages in our number, my sister being one of them. But none of them are healers of any repute, let alone a spirit healer like yourself."

He looked down, shifting uncomfortably on his seat.

"Hey, relax. I'm not going to turn you in. You're no use to me in the Gallows." His head jerked back up at that. "You're useful to me here, aiding the people in my care. In exchange, I'll protect you from the Templars and from any gangs putting pressure on you. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's figured out that the free clinic in Darktown is run by a talented apostate!"

"You still haven't explained _how_ you plan to protect me," Anders said, his eyes narrowing a fraction. "What could you possibly do or say to convince the Templars to leave me alone?"

"False papers, for starters," Hawke said and took another swig of her drink. "You're a Fereldan immigrant, that much is obvious. And I'm sure that Alrik was right when he assumed you hadn't been scanned or had your papers checked."

He shifted again, gaze hurriedly dropping. But for a split second, Hawke could have sworn she saw a flash of blue.

"Work for me and I'll ensure that your papers are the most legitimate ones that Alrik has ever seen, as if he had signed them himself! As for the gangs, well, as soon as word gets out that you're part of the crew, the gangs will know well enough to leave you alone."

"That's still not really telling me anything," Anders said, slowly raising his eyes again but still seeming reluctant to hold her gaze. "How can you accomplish these things? Where do you get the funding? Drugs? Smuggling? Prostitution? But nothing in your reputation hints at any of those things. So, black market, then? But if you had such a powerful hand in the black market, the Carta would have a problem with you! The Carta doesn't stand for opposition, not even from someone like you."

She was smiling now, unable to help herself. Hawke loved moments like this, loved being able to reveal her secrets at the right time. Anders stared at her in confusion, his brows knitting together and furrowing his forehead in a way that should not have been so adorable.

"No drugs, no smuggling, no prostitution. As for the Carta, well …" She glanced to the rear of the pub, where she could just see Varric's head in his usual booth. "My bookkeeper, Varric, liaises directly with the Carta for me. When I first arrived, you're right, they were a threat. But so were the Sharps Highwaymen and we obliterated them. Once the Carta saw what we were capable of, they approached us with the offer of an alliance."

Anders stared at her, jaw slack in disbelief.

"You're saying … technically speaking, I mean, the Carta works for _you?_ "

"They still retain ninety percent autonomy. But we have a few … restrictions in place, to ensure that they're not letting more filth into Kirkwall than I want. It's hard enough trying to clean up this city as it is without adding certain illegal substances into the mix."

Anders shook his head, obviously trying to digest this information. Hawke hid her smile behind her mug.

"That's how I'll provide protection in a physical sense. The Carta will send some people keep an eye on your clinic-"

"-Thus driving off any other gangs," he finished for her and she nodded.

"Exactly."

"Wow." Anders took a large gulp from his own drink, not wincing at the taste this time. "But what about your funding?" he asked. "You never answered my question about that."

"I think I've told you everything you need to know for now. Got to leave a little _mystery_ in the relationship," Hawke said, leaning forward to let her bright blue eyes pierce into him. She knew exactly how unsettling her gaze could be at times and she intended to make full use of it right now. "How about your turn? You feel like explaining to me what happened when I found you outside your clinic today?"

"No." His answer was sharp and abrupt, his expression closing off faster than she had anticipated. "You have no right to ask me of that."

"Oh, I think I do. If I'm extending all this effort and manpower to protect you, I need to be sure that you're deserving of my trust. I need to know you won't turn on me or someone from my organisation at the wrong moment. So?" Raising one eyebrow and drumming her fingers on the side of her mug, Hawke waited.

"I never said I was interested in your offer," Anders countered.

"You're still here," Hawke shot back. "You've had plenty of opportunities to get up and leave but you haven't. You've stayed right here, this entire time. C'mon Anders, we both know you want in. This is just a formality."

She had pushed too hard; she could see it in his eyes as he leant back and shook his head.

"No. I'm sorry but I'm not interested. Like I said earlier, I have no desire to get involved with any gangs. Thank you for the drinks, but I really should be getting back to my clinic."

Hawke was more disappointed than she should have been as she watched him stand up from the table and walk towards the door.

"If you change your mind," she called after him.

"I know where to find you," he said and nodded once, polite acknowledgement, before ducking his head under the doorframe and disappearing out into the dark night.

Hawke slouched in her seat and groaned, kicking her feet up on Anders' now-vacant chair. She heard movement behind her and a moment later, Varric was grinning to himself as he wandered towards the bar.

"What was that I said about making sure he wanted to be recruited before you dragged him back here?"

She swatted at him and he dodged out of the way, chuckling at her misfortune. She pushed her mug away, empty now, and reached for Anders' barely-touched mug. The door opened as she raised it to her lips and she stifled a groan as he brother's familiar sullen face came into view.

"Marian. Mother was expecting you home an hour ago," he called to her.

"Can't it wait?" she whined and Carver's face darkened.

"She wants you home, now!"

"Alright, alright!" Dragging herself up from the small table, Hawke reluctantly headed towards her brother. He muttered some rude comments as she drew closer but for once she was too distracted to snipe back at him. Her thoughts were full of a blond apostate healer, and the problem of how she could convince him to help her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are amazing <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let them go!" Anders shouted, feeling the anger burning through every vein in his body.

Anders sighed to himself as he picked up another bandage and began to re-roll it. A week after the templars had trashed his clinic and he was still tidying up bits and pieces. He had hoped to get it all back in order within a day or so, yet Darktown had been active lately and his number of patients had so increased that he could only snatch moments to re-order the clinic. 

So he prioritised. Medicines and implements first, everything else later. 

Now was one of those rare moments when he had a lull come over the clinic. Anders yawned into the back of his hand, put the bandage away and picked another one up. He had been working all night and now at nine thirty in the morning, he really should go lie down. 

But there were still bandages to roll and gauze pads to stack and saline bottles to check for perforations. This clinic needed him, and so he stayed despite the weariness that pulled at him. 

_This is a just cause._

Anders could not even muster a hum of a response to the spirit. He knew Justice was happy when he was helping people, which was all the more reason to get the clinic in order rather than sleep. 

His mind began to drift as he worked and Anders found his thoughts returning to Hawke. He scowled, mentally chastising himself and trying to think of something – anything – else. 

Yet her face was lodged in his mind. The yellow lighting of the pub reflecting off her black hair, her smooth skin providing the perfect frame to those glowing, other-worldly blue eyes that had pierced straight through him- 

_She is a distraction._

Anders snorted. 

_No kidding._

_How does she aide our cause? She does nothing but distract and fog your mind. This is more hindrance than help._

Anders sighed again, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he rubbed at his temples. _Our cause._ Sometimes he wished he had never made that deal with Justice, never promised what he had. He had been younger then – albeit not much younger, but even so – and filled with wild ideas. He was still passionate, there was no doubt about it. But he was tired. Anders felt as though he had never been so tired as he was right now. Sometimes he just wanted to forget all about their _cause_ and fall into a deep, long sleep. 

Justice stirred in him at that thought, offended. Anders tried to push his mind onto other things, onto the clinic. Angering Justice would not do him any good, it would only leave him more weary at the end. 

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he lifted his head right as the door to the clinic slammed open. Anders dropped the bandage, leaving it to unravel on the floor as he rushed out from the back storage area to see two figures running in, wild-eyed and bloodied. 

They were elves, little more than children. Their clothes were torn, feet bare and arms slick with blood. 

"Healer, please! Help us!" cried the first, his chest heaving in raw panic. The girl he clutched in his arms was pale and swaying, barely managing to stay upright. 

"What happened?" demanded Anders as he yanked some gloves on and came towards them. He could feel Justice in every fibre of his being, sharpening his senses and working alongside him rather than taking over him. 

"Please, you have to hide us!" begged the boy. "The Templars-" 

The door crashed open again, two Templars spilling in and instantly lunging for the children. The boy screamed and yanked away, trying to shield the girl with his body. But the Templars had them now, hands closing over their crimson-stained wrists to yank them forward. 

"Vile maleficars!" snapped one Templar. The boy flexed a hand and Anders saw now that the blood on the children was their own. The boy tried to use his magic, no matter the consequences, but the fist of a fully grown Templar snapped his head back and left him reeling. 

"Let them go!" Anders shouted, feeling the anger burning through every vein in his body. 

"Stay out of this, doctor!" warned the second Templar as he wrapped a hand around the girl's throat. She struggled, face rapidly reddening as she fought to breathe. "These two are dangerous blood mages! We have to put an end to them. Nothing you can do about it." 

Anders reached out blindly, his fingers searching along the underside of the examination table and quickly finding the simple wooden rod hidden there. 

"I said-" The rod whipped up, twirled once then slammed into the floor of the clinic, sending out a concussive shockwave, _"-Let them go!"_

His voice was deep and raw now, his vision electric as he glared at the world through the eyes of Justice. The Templars staggered back, grips tightening on the children in fear. 

"Apostate!" cried the first. 

"No, abomination!" 

_"You will pay for your crimes!"_

Justice lunged, ripping the boy from the first Templar's grasp with ease. He roared as he lifted his staff, blue lightning shooting out of it to slam into the Templar's body. The man screamed, falling on the ground as the lightning wreaked pain and seizures upon him. 

A faint cool sensation washed over him, like someone had thrown a bucket of water to douse an inferno. Justice turned his merciless rage onto the second Templar, slamming his staff into the ground again to send lightning burning through the floor and up the Templar's legs. 

_"You will never silence me!"_

The girl fell from the Templar's grasp, a limp mess on the floor that coughed and sobbed but made no move to run away. 

Lowering the staff, Justice loomed forward to stand over the two Templars. They stared back at him, terror in their eyes even as they groped for their weapons. If they could get a shot off, if they could just buy themselves a little more time- 

The staff fell from his grip as he raised his hands. Justice did not need the focus of the staff, not this time. He roared with inhuman ferocity as he unleashed the full tempest of the Fade power that swirled within him. 

Screams rose in a crescendo that was music to his ears. Steam and smoke filled the clinic as blue lightning cracked and sizzled, leaving the air charged with the scent of ozone. When the screams faded away and the flesh had charred beyond recognition, Justice lowered his hands, chest heaving in victory as a smile twisted his face. 

_"Justice has been dealt!"_

He retreated, taking the inhuman glow of the Fade and sealing the cracks he had made in his vessel's skin. Anders gasped, abruptly staggering and almost falling to his knees. 

His eyes fell upon the Templars and his stomach turned, yet he could not find it in himself to feel remorse. 

_They got what they deserved._

He turned, remembering the children. The girl was still crying where she had fallen and the boy lay with his eyes rolled back, unconscious. Anders felt a stab of guilt then, for he had been the one to throw the boy back. It was his fault the boy was unconscious now. 

If the boy died, it would be on his head. 

"It's alright, it's alright!" Anders said as he hurried to the boy's side. "I'm here, I'm going to help!"

His hands were trembling as he lifted them and summoned his healing magic. The magic was slow to respond and Anders knew distantly that his body was exhausted. He needed to rest, or he would push himself too far and be of no use to anyone. 

Yet he had to help these children. He had to! So he focused harder, summoning the magic through sheer force of will, until the cool healing glow enveloped the boy and washed through his body. 

It took some time. There were cuts all over both the boy's arms from his use of blood magic, along with hefty bruising to his brain from being thrown. Not to mention a myriad of small internal injuries, no doubt left by the Templars. 

Anders was gasping for air and fighting dizziness when he finally stopped pouring his magic into the boy. His vision blurred as he stumbled towards the girl, who was paler than ever and watching him in pure fear. 

"It's alright," he mumbled and lifted his hands again. It was harder this time, so much harder than with the boy. Sweat dripped off his forehead and his lower lip trembled from the strain. 

"Justice, please!" he whispered in desperation. 

_I am here,_ rumbled the spirit, and then it was no strain at all. Justice swept through him, using his own power to fuel Anders' strength. The healing magic poured out of his hands, knitting together the girl's wounds before his very eyes. 

Justice retreated as the last injury was mended, and this time Anders collapsed. The floor was hot and rough against his cheek, not cool and soothing as he had expected. He took a few moments to try and recover some strength before pushing himself upright. 

When his vision stopped swimming, Anders was struck with horror. The clinic was ruined, black marks of lightning scars riddled across the floor, walls and ceiling. Parts of the floor had split open and chunks had fallen from the ceiling. Smoke still rose from the bodies of the Templars, and the full weight of what had happened abruptly slammed into him. 

He had killed two Templars, right here in his clinic. With his magic. With Justice. 

He would certainly be hunted by the Gallows now.

Gasping in fear, Anders staggered to his feet. The world dipped and spun but he clutched the side of the examination table, stubbornly keeping himself upright. He had to fix this! But how? As soon as the Templars realised there were two missing from their order, they would search every nook and cranny, persecuting even those who did not have magic to reach their goal. Who on earth could stand up against that? What hope did he possibly have- 

"Oh," he breathed. Snatching up his staff out of physical need more than an intent to use it, Anders rushed for the door and disappeared out into Darktown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that my portrayal of Justice is different to canon. I know that in canon, Anders says Justice has completely become a part of him, to the point where he doesn't know what thoughts are his and what thoughts are Justice's. But I like the idea of them being able to converse to a degree, I like the premise of them retaining some kind of 'self'. Thus, my portrayal is different to canon. Hope you can all still enjoy it! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke stared at them, her shock deepening as she recognised the fragment of an emblem on one body.
> 
> "Is that … Anders, were these Templars?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks if you're still reading this fic! I know I never update regularly, but I do really enjoy working on this. Hopefully you enjoy reading it too. :)

Hawke was whistling off-key to herself as she made her way to the Hanged Man. It was Tuesday and Tuesday meant that she could make her escape to Lowtown sooner than most other days. She did not have to spend the morning answering simpering noble's letters, or taking noble callers at the door. Her mother always turned them away, stating that her daughter's time was occupied with _private family business._

Well, her mother wasn't wrong. Everything Hawke did was for the betterment and protection of her family – along with all the refugees, homeless and downtrodden that she could find. 

She pushed open the door to the Hanged Man, her whistle faltering as she heard the voices before she saw the figures. 

"… Calm down, Blondie. She'll be here soon!" She recognised Varric's familiar Kirkwall accent and began to hurry, sensing she was needed. 

"I-I can't calm down! You, you don't understand, I just-" 

"Hawke!" 

"Varric," she said in greeting before turning to the tall blond man beside the dwarf, who was jittering like a hyped-up puppy. "Anders? What's wrong?" 

"Thank goodness you're here!" He grasped her hands, amber eyes wide and panicked. Hawke took a deep breath and nodded for him to continue. "I-I need your help. Please. At my clinic. Now." 

His words were messy, faltering and tripping over each other. Hawke squeezed his hands in reassurance. 

"I'm not going anywhere until you calm down a bit more, hmm? Take a few deep breaths, Anders." 

"There's no time!" His voice rose, hysteria lacing every word. "Please, I'll do whatever it takes! I'll join your gang, whatever you want! Please, just help me!" 

"Okay, okay. Of course I'll help-" 

With those simple words of agreement, Anders had heard all he needed. He rushed towards the door, dragging her along behind him. Hawke let out a small yelp before looking over her shoulder. 

"Varric, come on!" 

"Right behind you, Hawke." 

Anders practically raced them into Darktown. Hawke's mind was whirring, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong, but it was only when his clinic came into view that her heart began to sink. 

"Oh, no." 

The glass door had a crack straight down through the centre of the glass. Anders did not slow, shoving the door open and leading them straight in to the wreckage of his clinic. 

Her jaw hung open, eyes wide as she drank it all in. The cracked floor, the black marks from magical lightning, the twisted figures locked in horrific rigors. Hawke stared at them, her shock deepening as she recognised the fragment of an emblem on one body. 

"Is that … Anders, were these Templars?" 

He nodded, raking his hands through his hair as he spun and stared at it all helplessly. Varric swore behind them. 

"They'll be coming for me, now. I didn't mean to … I only wanted … Hawke, please. What do I do now?" 

She straightened her shoulders, her intelligent mind already racing for solutions. 

"First of all you need to sit and you need to tell me everything that happened. Everything." 

He complied, trembling endlessly and knee bouncing madly as he perched on a work stool and began to speak. Hawke listened carefully, waiting until he fell silent and drew in a ragged breath before saying anything in response. 

"Where are they now? The two elf children, what happened to them?" 

"I … I don't know." Anders looked around now, searching for them. "I healed them and left them here. They must have run off by now. Oh, they were terrified. I only wanted to help them." 

"Varric?" 

"On it," came the reply. Varric slung his unique shotgun over his shoulder and exited the clinic. 

"If they're still close by, Varric will find them," Hawke said confidently. "Now, explain your magic to me." 

"My magic?" Anders echoed and she nodded. 

"How do you become so enraged that you lose control – a control you work hard to keep, if I recall – to the point that you reduce two full-fledged Templars to lumps of charcoal?" 

Anders squirmed on the stool, his eyes lowering in shame. 

"What I'm about to tell you … is private. Most people wouldn't understand and would be afraid of me, so I'm trusting you with this." 

Hawke narrowed her eyes and resisted the urge to fold her arms, knowing it would make her look closed off to him. 

"Alright. What is it?" 

"I … have a spirit of Justice … living inside me." He met her gaze and Hawke felt one corner of her mouth wanting to quirk up in ill-timed humour. She forced it to stay still; now was not the time. 

"What does that mean?" she asked instead. 

"It means that my body is not always my own. He's a Fade spirit and I met him some years ago, trapped outside of the Fade. He was dying – but he was good spirit, not a demon like you must think! I became a willing host for him and saved his life. But like I said, he's a spirit of _Justice_ , so he gets very upset over injustices." 

"Like two young mages being attacked by two Templars," Hawke said and Anders nodded. She sighed, looking a way for a moment to try and process this. 

"You wilfully became possessed." She watched the words strike him like blows, but instead of weakening his resolve, she watched Anders draw himself up straighter, jaw setting stubbornly. 

"I don't regret what I did. It was the right thing at the time. Only … Fade spirits were never meant to live in human bodies. Sometimes his power is beyond what I can control." 

"That's what I saw the other day, isn't it? When you glowed blue?" 

Anders nodded and instead of feeling repulsed or horrified, Hawke only felt satisfied. This piece of the puzzle that was Anders had fallen into place, and now a smile did quirk her mouth. 

"Thank you for telling me. I understand doubly your fears of the Templars now!" He snorted and nodded. "But, one question. Why Kirkwall? This is probably the worst city in Thedas for Templar power and mage oppression. Why would you come here when it's so dangerous for you?" 

Anders offered a weak smile. 

"It's Justice. He's drawn to the unjust things of the world. He wants to fix them. So here I am, helping in the best way I know how." 

Ah, there it was. The opening she had been looking for, her last chance to sway his mind in her favour. 

"You can help more than this, Anders. _I_ can help you help more than this. I don't think you quite understand how powerful my organisation is. Join us and find out. See for yourself how we can fight the injustices in this city. And then, join the fight yourself." 

He was staring at her, gaze slightly awed and Hawke knew her powerful blue eyes were working in her favour again. Anders abruptly looked away for a moment and when he looked back, there was a receding glow of blue in his gaze. 

"Very well. I accept the position of healer for your organisation." Hawke grinned in delight. "As long as I can continue my clinic." 

"Of course," agreed Hawke. "I'm not about to take you away from that. We both know how much the people down here need someone like you. As healer for my crew, you will be a consultant. We'll come to you whenever we need you and we'll keep you better supplied and better funded than you've ever been before." 

Anders nodded but said no more – his mind was clearly elsewhere, nerves still rattled, and Hawke did not push him. Varric chose that moment to re-enter the clinic, two terrified children trying to hide behind his back. 

It kind of defeated the purpose when they were both taller than him. 

"Found these two just around the corner. They confirmed his story. Said the Templars came for them while they were begging for food. Poor kids." A tender expression crossed Varric's face as he looked back at the children. Their wide eyes were fixed on Anders, fearful and trembling. 

"He's not going to hurt you," Hawke said, squatting down before them and offering a reassuring smile. "Anders didn't want to hurt you. He only wanted to protect you from the Templars. And you don't need to worry about them, either. You're safe now." To Varric, she said, "Call Merrill. She can take care of these two for now. Then call in a clean-up team. We need this dealt with before word gets out – quickly and quietly." 

"You got it, Hawke." The dwarf pulled his phone out and quickly dialled a number. 

"And as for you," Hawke said as she turned back to Anders, "get your things. You can't stay here while the clean-up team is working, so you'll stay at the Hanged Man. Give you a chance to get to know the rest of the crew, anyway." 

He nodded, breathing out slowly and looking up with a calmer expression than before. Yet Hawke was not fooled; she could still see the tremble in his hands. 

"What will you do with …" He motioned to the charred Templar remains on the floor. 

"We have contingency plans in place for situations like this, don't worry. It's not the first time we've had to dispose of the odd Templar. Now come on, do you need a hand with your things?" 

He shook his head and Hawke let him go. Anders wavered a little as he headed straight out to the back room but kept his footing. Sighing, Hawke turned and looked around the clinic. 

What a mess! This would be hard to clean up and even harder to keep quiet! She was sure by now that a street ruffian or two would have spread word of the incident, which meant getting Varric's spies to counteract the rumours. Not to mention that covering up the deaths of two Templars was far more difficult than she made it sound. One Templar here or there could easily be ascribed to accidents but this … 

She sighed again and rubbed her temple as Varric's low voice rumbled on. It would be much simpler to abandon Anders to his fate. That would be the pragmatic thing to do, Carver would say. It would avoid the taxing of her time, resources and finances. 

Yet Hawke was not her brother. No matter how difficult or stressful it would be to help Anders, she would do it without question. 

The mage in question returned shortly after, a ratty and torn duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Hawke offered him a light smile, pushing her concerns to the back of her mind. Right now, all she had to do was look after Anders. Varric was in charge of the initial crisis response at this point. He would report back as soon as there was anything to tell and she would formulate the next step from there. 

"Come on, let's get you back to the Hanged Man. Something tells me you could use a drink."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are my fuel <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke snorted, on eyebrow arched in disapproval.
> 
> "This Justice sounds like a downright jerk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get a hell yeah for 8 months between updates?? ..No? Well. I should have expected that..

The chaotic atmosphere of the Hanged Man grated on Anders' raw nerves as he followed Hawke through the establishment. Even this early in the day patrons drank and laughed; someone kicked at the ancient jukebox in the corner, trying to convince it to work. Marian led him straight past it all and up a staircase tucked against the back wall.

"In here," she said and he sighed in relief as the raucous noises from below faded away. Anders took a seat at the long table before him, duffel bag hitting the floor and head falling into his hands. Pain throbbed through his temples and his limbs still trembled – whether from exhaustion or panic or a combination of both, he could not quite tell. 

"This is Varric's suite. You'll be staying next door but I figured we should wait here for now. It's quieter than down there and no-one enters unless they're part of the crew." 

Hawke walked over to a locked cabinet against the wall. Anders watched through dull eyes as she picked the lock with ease and drew a couple of thick-glassed bottles out. She locked the cabinet again, snagged a couple of glasses from on top of it then approached the table to sit across from him. 

"Don't worry," Hawke said as she opened the first bottle and poured him a drink. "It doesn't taste anything like what they serve downstairs. This is Varric's private stash. And he had excellent taste." 

Anders could not dredge up even a boring comment, let alone a witty reply. He accepted the glass and lifted it to his lips, teeth clinking against the glass as his hand shook. Hawke opened her mouth to say something but he knocked the alcohol back in one swift gulp. It burned down his throat and spread a pleasant warmth through his gut. Anders exhaled slowly, watching his hand to see when the tremors would still. 

"Do you always end up as weak as this?" Hawke asked bluntly and he finally lifted his eyes to hers. "After you lose control to Justice, I mean." 

He tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace. Anders dropped his gaze to the lingering dregs of amber liquid in his glass. 

"It depends," he said in a low voice. "I haven't lost control like that in a while, so … Normally I can handle it better." 

Hawke said nothing but topped up his glass. Anders found himself smirking in amusement. 

"You know this is wasted on me, right?" He lifted his glass. "I can't get drunk. Justice doesn't let me. It simply doesn't happen. Maybe you should save it for someone who can make use of it." 

Anders pushed the glass away but Hawke pushed it straight back.

"Getting drunk is not the point of having a drink. Enjoying the drink is. So as long as you don't dislike it, I don't consider it to be wasted." 

Anders hesitated, thoughts conflicted. 

_This is a distraction, a drug that tries to weaken. You should not indulge!_

"Well … It is very good whiskey." 

The burn of alcohol down his throat was pleasant this time, the lingering aftertaste sweet. But Anders winced as the pain in his head sharpened; Justice could be petty at times. 

"Aren't you a healer?" 

He looked up at Hawke in confusion. She was watching him with those bright blue eyes, calmly sipping at her own drink. 

"What?" 

"You're obviously in pain. Headache, right? Why don't you just heal it?" 

_Such ignorance._

"It's not exactly something that magic can heal," Anders explained. "It's Justice. Sharing a body with him like this … Sometimes it hurts." 

Hawke snorted, on eyebrow arched in disapproval. 

"This Justice sounds like a downright jerk." 

Anders smiled but offered nothing more. They lingered in the quiet of Varric's suite, muted sounds of the pub below filtering through the floor. After some time Anders realised his hands had stopped trembling. He heaved a deep breath and rubbed a hand across his face. 

"What happens now?" he asked, voice sounding more like himself than he felt. "What do I need to do?" 

"Nothing, for the moment," replied Hawke. "I'll get Varric to put a rush on organising some papers for you. And a cover story. He's the best at those. Oh, and we'll have to organise a blocker for you, just in case you're scanned. But those are all things for my crew. All you have to do is rest, Anders." 

"But surely there's something-" 

The door to the suite flung open and Anders flinched, hard. His chair crashed as he leapt to his feet, power crackling in his hands and eyes blazing with Fade energy. The intruding woman faltered, expression caught between one of surprise and intrigue, followed by mild recognition. 

"Have I met you before? Something about all … this … seems very familiar," she said and gestured to his body. Hawke groaned but Anders did not tear his eyes away from this intruder, heart racing madly in his chest. 

"Isabela, please. Do you have to flirt with everything that breathes?" 

"Oh that's rich, coming from you, Hawke!" retorted the woman. "I'm not the only one who knows how to use her womanly wiles to get what she wants." She looked Anders up and down, smirked and tapped her chin with a finger. "Let me guess. Fereldan?" 

A sudden memory passed through Anders' mind. One lonely, wild night, years ago after a successful escape. His eyes widened and the raw magic disappeared from his hands. 

"You were at the Pearl!" he said and the woman's face lit up in delight. 

"Oh, now I remember! You were that runaway mage who could do that electricity thing. My, my, Hawke. You're certainly keeping better company these days." She stepped close into Anders' space, her eyes hungry as they ran over his form. 

"Isabela, what do you want?" asked Hawke in a tired voice. 

"Many things," she said without taking her eyes off Anders, her tone low and sultry. 

"Bela!" 

"Fine." The voluptuous woman turned away from Anders, rolling her eyes before explaining herself. "Fenris and I had a run-in with some slavers this morning. Nothing major but in the process, his blocker was broken. We had to run from a Templar who sensed him, so there's probably a bounty out for him now." 

"But he's okay?" Hawke asked and Isabela nodded. 

"He's back in Hightown. But he needs a new blocker before he's willing to leave again." 

"And I suppose we'll have to do something about that bounty. It's not as though he has enough bounties on his head as it is." Hawke stood and moved to another locked cabinet. It was picked with ease and she pulled something out, tossing it to Isabela. "That's all we've got left on hand at the moment and it's not very powerful but it should get him through the rest of the week. You know, we wouldn't keep having this problem if he would just let us implant the blocker." 

"And you know why he refuses, sweet thing," Isabela replied with a light chiding tone. Hawke sighed ruefully. 

"You're right. Sorry. Tell him I'll take care of the bounty, as well." 

The chatter was so casual that Anders found himself relaxing. Righting his chair and sinking back into it, he nursed his drink and let the conversation roll over him. His head still throbbed and his eyelids drooped – but there was a certain sensation of security winding its way around him. 

He jumped when a hand slid across his shoulder. 

"As for you, let me know if you're ever looking for some company. I'm sure we could stir up some of that fun we had back at the Pearl, hmm?" Isabela was grinning wickedly at him and on another day, Anders would have been flirting straight back. She was harmless, wanting nothing more than to indulge with no strings attached. Yet today Anders could only muster a smile that felt more like a glorified grimace. 

"Bye, Bela," Hawke said pointedly and the woman chuckled, swaying her hips as she exited the suite and closed the door behind her. "Anders? Are you okay?" 

It was a struggle to focus his eyes on her. Her face blurred before him and Anders managed to shake his head, not trusting himself to speak. The throbbing in his head was making his stomach churn more than he cared to admit.

"Come on, I think perhaps you'd better lie down now after all." Her words sounded far away but suddenly she was there before him, pulling the glass from his hand and steadying his shoulders. "Can you walk? Please say yes – I don't think I'm strong enough to carry you."

A snort escaped him at that mental image and he nodded. Hawke pulled his arm over her shoulders and helped him to stand. Despite the pounding in his skull and the queasiness in his gut, Anders could not help but notice how short Hawke actually was. Well, average height, he supposed. He was tall himself and her head almost reached his chin.

"Don't make me do all the work," she said and he remembered he was meant to be walking.

"Right," he muttered, forcing his legs to obey. Slowly, Hawke led him out of Varric's suite and into the next room. It was dark and a little dusty but Anders barely noticed; all he saw was the bed complete with blankets and thick pillow.

He staggered the last couple of steps and let himself collapse face-first onto the mattress. A satisfied groan escaped him and Anders wondered how long it had been since he had last indulged in a _proper bed_.

"I'll leave you to it, then. Try to stay upstairs but if you really need something, the bartender, Corff, will be able to help you. I'll be in and out a bit, so …"

Anders tried to focus on the words, he really did. Hawke had a nice voice and he enjoyed listening to it. But the mattress was softer than the cot at his clinic, the pillow so much thicker than the jacket he normally used. And he was tired, so very tired.

He fell asleep with thoughts of Hawke still filling his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke looked up, an expression of pure innocence painted on her face as she met the blunt gaze in front of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Later than I intended but life is funny like that.
> 
> A HUGE thanks to everyone on Tumblr who helped me with brainstorming a phrase for this chapter! All your input was phenomenal and helped me so much! <3

"What is this?"

Paper slammed down in front of her, pinned by a fist that was trying not to be as aggressive as it seemed. Hawke looked up, an expression of pure innocence painted on her face as she met the blunt gaze in front of her.

"Seems to be an official Guard report, to me. With your signature, too!"

"Don't play games, Hawke! You have no right to go around fabricating stories – about Templars, no less – nor to forge my signature on official documents!"

"To be fair, the entire document is a forgery, so-"

"Hawke! We've discussed this before! I can only overlook so much but as Guard Captain, I _will not_ overlook the blatant forgery of my own signature, especially when used _in conjunction_ to a matter involving Templars! Do you really want to bring the wrath of the Knight-Commander down upon me?"

Hawke sighed and shrugged, trying to look remorseful.

"What can I say? I tried to find you at the Barracks but Donnic said you were in official meetings with the Viscount or something. I couldn't wait that long, so I just went ahead and made the document. Or rather, Varric did. But! It hasn't been published yet! That's why it's in your hands now and not already filed on the database. Aveline, I wanted you to see it first. To give it your approval and to make sure we hadn't missed anything."

The woman before her heaved a groan and rubbed her face before shaking her head in disbelief.

"After all this time, I still cannot believe the trouble you drag me into."

Aveline yanked out the chair opposite Hawke and sank into it. Letting that impish grin win across her face, Hawke reached out to daringly pat Aveline on the head – earning herself a sharp glare – before taking the piece of paper and scanning it over.

"So? What do you think? Will the Templars buy this story?"

It was a simple cover story they had constructed. Varric had an incredible flair for such things and Hawke normally left these tasks to him with no questions asked. But with two dead Templars on their hands, she wanted a bit more reassurance than usual.

Aveline took the paper back, scowling at it.

"What, will they believe that two of their own died in a terrible fire at one of the foundries? Sounds sketchy at a first glance. But why were the Templars there in the first place? Oh, that's right! They just happened to be passing when the blaze went up and they ran in to save as many as they could! How altruistic." Aveline dropped the paper and scoffed. "Yeah right."

"And here I thought I was meant to be the sarcastic one," Hawke commented.

"Obviously you're more of a bad influence than you realise," Aveline shot back. She folded the piece of paper and shoved it in a pocket. "I never expected you to paint the Templars as the heroes, in any circumstance. What made you do that here?"

"It wasn't my idea," Hawke said with a grimace. "That was all Varric. Said that the Templars will be less inclined to investigate if the ones that died are portrayed favourably in the public eye. But I still hate it. All it's going to do is sway more people towards liking them and we really don't need that!"

"But if it keeps the Order and Meredith off your back …"

"Exactly." Hawke sighed. "So I don't have to like it but I have to admit it's our best option."

Aveline shook her head and sighed. Hawke knew her friend was wrestling with her own convictions when her lips thinned and her finger tapped on the table between them.

"I assume that the foundry in this report has already been burnt to the ground?"

"Of course. You know we don't do things by half measures."

"Maker forbid. I might actually get some real Guard work done if that happened." Aveline stood then, tucking the chair under the table in a reflex action that never failed to amuse Hawke. Even after all they had been through, Aveline remembered her manners. "Alright Hawke, I'll allow it. This time! But try and slide another report like this past my nose and I will hang you out to dry."

"Duly noted," Hawke said, knowing it was nothing but bluster. No matter how she complained and nagged, Aveline was fiercely loyal to Hawke. "Varric is still at the foundry, if you want to check out the scene for yourself. He can go over any finer details of the story that you might need."

"Thanks." Aveline paused, a frown crossing her face. Hawke tilted her head curiously; it wasn't like Aveline to withhold her thoughts. "Just … this apostate. Is he really worth it, Hawke? You're putting a lot of time and money on the line for someone you hardly know."

"You know me, Aveline. I love a good tragic apostate project," she joked. Aveline stared at her, waiting for a more serious answer, but broke before Hawke did.

"Fine. Just be careful. You can't trust everyone simply because they're Fereldan."

"Really? I guess I'll have to re-evaluate my methods."

"If only. Are we still on for tomorrow night?"

"Yes! Mother's making that casserole you love. She's been talking about it all week."

"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing her again."

The conversation devolved into pleasantries before Aveline offered a farewell and exited the Hanged Man. Hawke rocked back on her chair as she pulled her phone out and checked it for messages.

Merrill had texted to say the two elf children were safely settling in with a foster family in the alienage. Varric had sent one complaining about how much work he did for Hawke and that he definitely deserved a raise. She sniggered and hastily typed out a snarky reply to him, before glancing to the staircase at the back of pub.

Hours had passed since Anders collapsed in the room beside Varric's suite. Hawke hadn't seen anything of him since then but she hadn't expected to, either. She'd been running damage control the entire time and was only now feeling as though they had things well enough in hand to relax.

Maybe she should go check on him, make sure he was alright and that his buddy Justice hadn't smothered him in his sleep. Her face twisted; it was a weak excuse at best but she had never let those stop her in the past. If she wanted something, she went for it. So Hawke stood, face set in determination as–

Her phone buzzed in her hand and a frustrated sigh escaped her. Bethany was calling. She frowned. Bethany rarely ever called, preferring to send her obnoxious text messages full of so many emojis that Hawke almost needed a Masters degree in linguistics to interpret it.

"Beth?" she said as she quickly answered the call.

"Hi Marian!" came her sister's far-too-cheery voice. "Just checking how you were going with those errands. Mother and I thought you'd be back by now. Oh and on top of that, there's a gentleman here asking after you. Ser Alrik, I believe."

Hawke swore low under her breath. This was the last thing she needed right now.

"Of course, Bethany. Tell the _gentleman_ I'll be there within the hour. And Beth? Don't let yourself be alone in the room with him. Don't."

Bethany gave a light laugh, more for the effect of those around her than Hawke's benefit.

"You don't need to remind me." The tone was teasing but Hawke knew the true message Bethany was conveying to her. "I'll let him know. See you soon, Marian."

Hawke fled the Hanged Man, shooting a warning text to Varric. She might be overreacting. Ser Alrik might be truly making a social call, nothing more.

Yeah right.

She sent a message to Aveline as well, just in case, then shoved her phone in her back pocket and thundered up the steps that led to her family estate's secret entrance. The estate had more than one concealed passage and she was grateful now that the Hanged Man was close to one of them.

Sneaking quietly into the house, she peered around corners to make sure the room was clear before stealing up to her bedroom. No time for a shower, not to mention Ser Alrik might hear the water running. Hawke scrubbed the red paint from her face, shucked her clothes and scrambled for something more suitable.

She hated dresses, she really did. Too restrictive around the chest, too flowing around the legs. How was she meant to run or fight or climb in a dress? Not all fights were fought on the streets, her mother liked to remind her. Some were duels of war that occurred over a dining table, full of scathing glares and aloof head turns.

Hawke really did not have the subtlety for such interactions. Yet she tried her hardest, for it was needed from time to time. As a member of Kirkwall's elite upper class, she had to be ready for anything. Her tongue was certainly sharp but far too often she delivered a blunt offense when a backhanded one was expected.

"Nothing else for it," she muttered to herself as she examined herself in a mirror, smoothing down the front of her dress. Her fingers combed her hair into something neater and a quick application of makeup completed the look.

Gone was the rough and tumble woman from Lowtown who taunted Templars. In her place was a graceful young lady who carried herself with pride and assurance.

Ser Alrik would recognise her, there was no doubting that. They had never met in social politeness and even though this meeting would certainly throw a spanner in the works, Hawke was not too concerned. Her family was too powerful now. Alrik could not accuse her of anything without solid proof. And even if he did, Hawke would always play dumb.

Taking a deep breath, she snuck out a side entrance of the estate. Smoothing her expression into a pleasant one, Hawke struck out onto the main road and strode fearlessly up to the front of the estate.

The gate opened before she could reach it. Hawke turned aside on impulse. Four Templars exited, Ser Alrik's face one of furious frustration as he strode at the front. His words were sharp and aggressive as he spoke to someone on his phone. Hawke held her breath; would he see her?

"… There's no way a foundry fire is anything but a suspicious circumstance! I cannot believe it was innocent-" His jaw snapped shut, teeth grinding together. The other Templars with him said nothing as they approached the Order truck they had left parked on the street. Alrik climbed in the front passenger seat as a Knight-Corporal rushed around to the driver's seat.

"What about the bodies?" Alrik demanded. "Have they been seen by our medical examiner yet? I don't believe that a fire-"

His voice was drowned out as he shut the car door and the engine started. Hawke kept moving, past the Amell estate as though she was headed elsewhere. She waited until the truck had disappeared from view before turning back and hurriedly entering her home.

"Bethany?" she called out, worry lacing her voice.

"In here!"

A sigh of relief escaped her as she saw her sister, brother and mother in the front sitting room. Bethany came to greet her and Hawke pulled her into a tight hug.

"What happened? What did he want?" she demanded but Bethany only shrugged.

"He wouldn't say. Just insisted that he needed to see you regarding a matter of grave importance. He wouldn't talk to Mother, either."

"And those other Templars, were they in here with him?"

"Only one of them," Carver answered, his tone grim and his arms folded over his chest. "I demanded to know who was calling on my sister then insisted that he leave his lackies outside."

"He didn't say it quite like that," Bethany muttered and Hawke felt the corner of her mouth quirk up.

"What a relief. But then he just left? Did he give a reason?"

"No, actually. He just answered a phone call then his face went white, then red, and he left. The other Templar with him was the one who apologised and excused them but Ser Alrik was already out the door by then."

"Small mercies," Hawke sighed. "I heard some of the phone call as they left. Aveline must have uploaded the report to the database, because Alrik was yelling about a fire at a foundry."

"Huh. At least something good came from helping that healer, then," Carver remarked and Hawke nodded.

"But it still begs the question. If Alrik was not here about those two dead Templars, why was he here?"

A tense silence fell over the siblings as they each pondered the question. Leandra was the one to break the quiet, standing up and heading for door out of the sitting room.

"I think I've heard far too much about what you three do than I need to know. Just remember to be careful and look out for each other." Leandra called out to Bodahn as she left, informing him that if ever Ser Alrik was to come calling again, he was to be refused entrance due to his poor manners and subsequent offending of the Amell family.

"Oh that reminds me. Bodahn!" Hawke strode out to find him in the foyer.

"Messere Hawke! I did not hear you return."

"I need some more blockers, Bodahn. Fenris broke his again and we've got a new apostate in the crew. Spirit healer, so I'm thinking he'll need something strong. Can you and Sandal handle that?"

"Of course, messere," Bodahn said with a sweeping bow. "You know how much of a whiz my boy is with those things. We'll have a new supply for you by the end of the week."

"Just what I was hoping to hear," Hawke said with a wide grin. Her mind was racing on to other things as soon as Bodahn turned away. One problem taken care of. But there was still a pile of other problems stacked in front of her. All it would take was for one to tip, and the whole lot would come crashing down.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smile that Varric flashed was more unsettling than any other part of their conversation and Anders suddenly found himself regretting telling the dwarf anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you realise you have a whole chapter written and ready to go and you haven't posted it yet.
> 
> :D

Anders did not own a phone and there was no clock in his room, so he had no idea what time it was when he finally awoke. His head no longer throbbed and his body felt better rested than it had in months. Pushing himself up, he cast around in the darkness for a lamp.

The dull yellow glow from the dusty bulb by the bed revealed a room that was small but still bigger than the shoebox he lived in at the back of his clinic. A sagging wardrobe sat against the wall perpendicular to the foot of the bed. A small bedside table bore the lamp and a drawer with nothing but dust and cobwebs in it. The floor was covered by a ratty rug and there was a window above the bed – but it was boarded up, the glass having been broken some time ago. All in all it was a sad, decrepit room but it brought a smile to Anders' face all the same.

Hawke must have brought his duffel bag in after depositing him, for the bag sat by the foot of the bed. Anders went to the bag and dug around for some fresh clothes.

After finding the communal bathroom and cleaning himself up a bit, Anders decided to venture downstairs. He vaguely remembered Hawke telling him to stay upstairs but he was starving. It sounded rather quiet down in the pub so he decided to risk it.

Every single stair squeaked as he descended and Anders gave up wincing after the first five. The pub was incredibly deserted. No patrons lined the bar or filled the booths and tables. The jukebox was silent and the overwhelming odours were muted. It was rather eerie and even though his experiences with the place were limited, Anders found himself missing the noise and chaos.

Soft murmurs attracted his attention and he glanced to the corner on his left. A waitress sat in a booth beside a dwarf, both of them talking softly as they pored over a book laid open before them.

Well. At least the place wasn't completely deserted.

Anders cleared his throat and took a step towards them. The waitress' head whipped up quickly and she narrowed her eyes at him. But it was the dwarf who flashed a grin and waved him over.

"Thanks, Norah. I'll take care of the rest," the dwarf said to the waitress as she stood before focusing on Anders. "Well, well. Look who finally decided to join the land of the living."

"It's Varric, right?" Anders said as he sat opposite the dwarf.

"At your service. I would have given you a proper introduction yesterday but there wasn't really time. I'm the owner of this disgusting establishment."

"Oh, that's right! Hawke and I were in your suite and she … well, she stole some of your alcohol, actually."

Varric chuckled.

"Yeah, she does that. I keep changing the locks but she keeps picking them." Varric closed the large book before him and leant back.

"So, uh, how long have I been here?" Anders asked.

"Hmm, almost a day. Hawke brought you back here late morning yesterday. You passed out and this is the first anyone's seen you since. Speaking of, you must be starving." Varric gestured to Norah and only a few moments later, a plate of toast with spreads was delivered. Anders murmured a thanks and began to eat, surprised by how good the basic food tasted.

"So, Blondie, what's your story?" Varric asked.

"My story?"

"Where are from, what led you here. You know, your story."

Anders' chewing slowed as he pondered how to answer.

"It's … complicated."

Varric laughed. "I'm not surprised. Stories always are. But you see, I'm Hawke's bookkeeper. It's my job to make sure we can trust the people on the payroll. And at this time of the morning, we've got all the time in the world. So?"

Anders fought the urge to shift awkwardly in his seat and ignored the stirrings of Justice within him. Varric was right, it was only fair that he shared his past – to some extent, at least. But what to share and what to withhold?

"I know about Justice, if it makes you feel any better." Anders flinched, meeting Varric's steady, piercing gaze. "Hawke told me everything. I know you probably didn't want her to tell anyone but she felt I needed to know."

"It's not exactly … something that most people understand. Or accept," Anders replied, watching Varric carefully.

"You got that right. Look, I'm not gonna lie. I'm a dwarf. Mages and the Fade and all that crap isn't my favourite topic of conversation on a good day. So no, I'm not pleased about what Hawke told me. But I'm withholding any judgement until I get to know you. No point in judging a book by its cover and all that."

Rather than be put off, Anders found Varric's blunt honesty to be reassuring. The tension in his shoulders eased and he took another bite of toast as he marshalled his thoughts.

"I'm from Ferelden," he finally said. "I was in the Circle at Kinloch Hold for a while, actually. But the injustices that I saw there …" Justice swelled in anger just thinking about it. "I escaped, ran away. Found Justice and took him in then somehow ended up here. I've been trying to help people ever since then. But the Templars make it so hard …"

"That is the least complicated explanation I've ever heard," Varric said bluntly and Anders held his breath, wondering if the dwarf would push for more details. "Whatever, I'll take it for now. If I'm really curious, I can always get someone to investigate it for me."

The smile that Varric flashed was more unsettling than any other part of their conversation and Anders suddenly found himself regretting telling the dwarf anything.

The door to the Hanged Man groaned as it swung open and Varric's eyes instantly fixed on the three figures that spilled in. Anders twisted to see them for himself.

"Varric! Where's that healer? We need him, now!"

Anders was on his feet before the beautiful pirate even finished speaking. He hurried over, Justice urging him on as he saw the blood covering them.

"Anders! Thank goodness. We had a nasty brush with another gang and Merrill here took the brunt of it." Isabela gestured to the small elf woman who was being carried by a tall, surprisingly strong elf man.

"Lay her down," Anders said and the elf man complied, placing Merrill on the floor. Anders crouched over her, wishing he had his gloves and medical supplies even as he pushed his hands into the blood pouring out of her.

"I'm alright," Merrill said in a weak voice. "Really. I don't want anyone to go to any trouble."

"Oh, kitten, hush."

"Her lung's been punctured, and her liver …" Anders let his eyes glaze over as he examined the injuries through his magic. The elf man growled as Anders pushed out a pulse of healing magic into Merrill but he didn't notice.

The injuries were extensive and severe. Anders closed his eyes as his hands trailed across her body, summoning the mana within him and weaving it into the restoration of organs and bones. Justice's strength joined with his own and he silently thanked the spirit. The magic poured out of him, filling Merrill and binding her body back together.

It was only when the last wounds had been knitted back together and the pulsing magic receded from his hands that Anders realised how quiet the room was. He opened his eyes and was met with awed expressions staring back at him. Isabela and Varric were both slack-jawed but the elf was glaring, his expression wary and tense.

"Blondie …"

"Fancy a visit to the back right now, you and me?" Isabela blurted out, a lascivious smile tilting her mouth. Anders couldn't resist an answering smirk but quickly looked back to Merrill.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

The small woman blinked rapidly, her breaths coming easier than before as she looked around in wonder. She clutched at her stomach and side then slowly sat up.

"By the Creators! I'm all healed up!" A laugh escaped her as she met Anders' gaze. "Oh, thank you, beautiful strange man."

She went to fling her arms around him but Isabela rapidly pulled her back, scolding her. Merrill only seemed to realise then that she was covered in blood and she let out an embarrassed laugh.

"You should still rest for a bit," Anders advised. "Even if you feel alright, your body will need some time to recover. And try not to use your magic for the rest of the day. One of your mana pathways was damaged and any excess usage could tear it again."

"Oh, of course," Merrill accepted with a nod.

"Now, does anyone else need healing? You, are you alright?" he asked the elf, gesturing to a long gash down the elf's strangely tattooed arm. The markings seemed to tug at him in some way but the elf responded before Anders could puzzle it out.

"Keep your filthy hands away from me, mage!"

"Fenris! He just saved Merrill's life!" Isabela reprimanded but it made no difference.

"Her life only needed saving due to her own folly. Listen here, mage. You keep your distance from me and you keep your magic to yourself. I don't know you and I don't want to know you. I can take care of myself."

Anders was left open-mouthed as the elf stood up and strode past them all. Isabela darted after him, nagging at his shoulder and getting slapped away as she tried to examine his wound.

"What … exactly did I do wrong?" Anders asked slowly as he watched them go. Varric simply laughed and shook his head.

"Nothing, Blondie. Fenris just hates mages."

"Right. Well then." He looked down at his blood-soaked hands then out the doorway where the first warm light of day was beginning to shine through. "Bit of a dramatic way to start the day."

"Better get used to it," Varric said as he helped Merrill to her feet. "You're part of the crew now. Things are only gonna get a whole lot crazier."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wow," he said bluntly.
> 
> "Oh come on now, it's not that bad!"
> 
> It was that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a hell of a year in every way imaginable and I can't wait for it to be over. In the mean time, enjoy this new chapter while we all cheer on the coming new year together!

Anders jumped as the papers slammed onto the table before him.

"Tadaa!"

Hawke smirked at his startled expression, pulling out the chair opposite him and sitting down. The blond mage straightened and stared at her in open surprise.

"Hawke! What are you-"

"Varric finished your papers last night and I wanted to deliver them myself. Oh, and that's your blocker on top, too. It's just a temporary one for now, to see if the strength is high enough for both you and Justice. And Varric included a cover story as well, just in case a Templar questions your papers or anything."

She flashed him a smile and rocked back on her chair. Anders looked down at the stack of papers before him, as though only seeing them for the first time.

"Uh, thanks," he finally said.

"You're not happy?" she asked. He didn't seem particularly thrilled by all this. Or perhaps she had simply startled him more than he let on.

"No, no. I just wasn't expecting to see you, that's all. I haven't seen you since you brought me back here."

"Yeah, I know," Hawke said with a grimace and leant forward to drop the chair back on all four feet. "I had some problems of my own come up and I haven't had much chance to get back here, I'm afraid. But Varric and Isabela have kept me updated – though I hope Isabela isn't too much of a nuisance."

Anders smiled then and Hawke felt a twinge in her chest.

"She's fine. More interested in Fenris than in me, really. Uh, but what's this trouble of your own? Is everything alright?"

Hawke rolled her jaw, wondering how much she should say.

"It's … nothing, really. I just had to smooth over a few ruffled feathers and it took longer than it usually does." Hopefully he would buy that. Anders had reacted so badly to Ser Alrik last time, she was reluctant to bring up his name again.

"Sounds like you do that sort of thing regularly," he said and she could not help but laugh.

"True. Sometimes I wonder, why does everyone have to get so offended all the time? It's not like _I'm_ doing anything to cause offence!"

The side glance he shot her was so full of disbelief that it drew another grin to her face. In that moment Hawke wanted nothing more than to reach across the table, flick the loose strands of hair into his face and let loose a particularly clever quip. But there were no words on her tongue and her limbs were suddenly full of lead.

Three days had passed since Anders had shown her the wreckage of his clinic. Three days of complication after complication. Varric's clean up crew had trouble getting the supplies into Darktown. A new lyrium trader had tried to set up shop in her territory. Athenril was growing more and more bold and Hawke was _this close_ to making a bid for her old employer's territory, just to get her out of the picture.

At least Ser Alrik had not come back to the estate yet. Hawke still had no idea why he had been sniffing around but she had her ear to the ground about that one, too. Varric and Aveline were the only two outside her immediate family to hear of Alrik's visit and Hawke suspected it was best it stay that way. Until she knew more, it was best not to risk anything.

"How are things progressing with my clinic?" Anders asked, drawing Hawke out of her musings. "Is there anything I can do to assist? Varric told me you've run into a few problems."

"Oh, they're nothing major," Hawke quickly dismissed his concerns. "Last I heard, all evidence of your little _incident_ has been stripped away, but I'm not sure about refurbishments. How about we take a walk? Go check it out?"

Anders' face lit up and Hawke felt her heart stutter in her chest. That smile of his was utterly blinding when he wanted it to be.

"Really? That would be wonderful! Honestly, I'm going a little crazy, stuck in here all the time. There are so many people out there that rely on my help and without my clinic …"

"Come on, then. Here, put your blocker on first. And take those papers with you, just in case."

"How does the blocker work exactly? I've heard of them but never seen one before."

Hawke moved around the table and picked up the small metal device on top of the stack of papers. It was smaller than the average coin, fitting snugly inside her palm. She turned it over and pointed to a faint, barely visible orange glow on the back of the device.

"We've got a couple of dwarves in the crew that are particularly skilled with enchantment. Traditional blockers are just electromagnets that scramble a Templar's scanner. But traditional blockers are a lot more difficult to make and they're much larger, not to mention that they're only guaranteed to work fifty percent of the time. I complained about them in passing to our enchanter, Sandal, and the next day he gave me one like this. I don't know exactly how he does it but the runes completely negate any readings on a Templar's scanner. To them, any mage seems just like a normal person."

"That's amazing," Anders said and took the blocker, staring at it curiously. "This dwarf must be quite the enchanter."

"He's certainly special, I'll give him that. Stand up and I'll put it on for you."

Anders rose and Hawke swallowed hard as she was faced with his chest abruptly right in front of her eyes. _Focus,_ she scolded herself and pulled out a dagger to cut a small hole in the hem of his sweater.

"Hey!" Anders protested but she was already taking the blocker from his hand and pushing it into the hole.

"You don't want it to be found by Templars if they do a body search, do you? Now, the weight of it will keep it hidden in the hem line but I'd still recommend patching that hole when you get a chance. It should be fine for now, though."

Anders grumbled a bit more but let it be. Hawke stepped away from him and took a breath to calm herself, and a moment later he moved to join her with his forged papers carefully folded in his pocket.

The walk to Darktown didn't take that long and within a short time, they were standing outside what had been Anders' clinic.

"Wow," he said bluntly.

"Oh come on now, it's not that bad!"

It was that bad. The glass door and front wall had both been torn down, revealing the cracked floor and crumbling ceiling within. The shelves of medical supplies were barren and a groan of dismay escaped Anders as he realised everything had been pilfered.

"We did put up guards to try and warn people off but … Sorry. Don't worry, I'll replace everything myself!" Hawke offered in consolation.

A motley group of humans and elves stood to the side of the clinic, debating fiercely over a roughly drawn plan of the building. Hawke gestured to them.

"That's the clean up crew. And the construction crew. Varric found them, don't ask where. They might not be reputable but they know what they're doing, I'm sure. If all goes according to plan, they should have the clinic functional again within a couple of weeks."

Anders sighed and walked up to where the door had been. His hand drifted over the door jamb, a bitter expression on his face.

"And until then? What will the people of Darktown do when they need a healer?"

"Come looking for you, I'm sure," Hawke was quick to say. "We can spread the word, Anders, direct them to the Hanged Man. Corff might complain but we can give you a room or possibly even two to use-"

"No." He shook his head, brow furrowed in concentration. "The people I work with aren't going to come to Lowtown for a healer. It's too dangerous for them to travel that far." His eyes cast over the ruined clinic again, dragging his expression down further. "Don't worry, Hawke. This isn't your fault. It's mine. I'll figure something out for the meantime."

"Anders-"

"You've done enough, really." He turned to her and smiled then, but it was a sad smile. "Thank you. But I need to figure this out for myself."

A flash of irritation burned through her at that, and before she could stop herself, her hands were on her hips and her mouth let the words pour out.

"Oh my, such a martyr!" Anders' head jerked up, eyes narrowing at her. "And here I thought being a member of my crew entitled you to my aid and resources. Hmm, how did I get that so wrong?"

"It's not that I don't want your help," Anders tried to explain. "It's just that I know what I need in my clinic and I know what my patients expect from me. You don't."

"And you couldn't fix this by, I don't know, telling me?"

She was being stubborn. Mulish, Carver liked to call it. Hawke could see the frustration and bewilderment in Anders. He had not expected this reaction from her and did not know how to deal with it. Good. She didn't want him getting too comfortable around her yet; he needed to remember who exactly ran the gang out of the Hanged Man and what she was capable of.

"You really want to help that much?" Anders finally asked, tentatively.

"I recruited you. It's my responsibility to make sure that the conditions of your recruitment are met. So?"

He sighed, one hand absently pushing his hair out of his face before he reluctantly gave in.

"I need somewhere out of the way but with multiple access points to and from it. Somewhere in Darktown. Somewhere off the main routes of the Templars but not somewhere too close to the sewers or hostile gang territory. It needs to be structurally sound, with several rooms at least. And it needs to be close by to this-" he pointed to his ruined clinic, "-so that my current patients don't have to go far. Honestly, this clinic was in a good location. It's practically in the centre of Darktown and I don't know how you're going to beat that for location. It was hard enough for me to find this in the first place."

Hawke's fingers tugged at her lower lip, mind whirring at a thousand miles an hour.

"How close could you stand to be to the Templars' routes?" she asked and Anders grimaced.

"I'd prefer to be as far away as possible. I don't want to give them any reason to pay me a visit."

"Hmm." She frowned before her eyes widened as a thought struck her. "Oh. That could work."

"What? What is it?" he asked curiously. Hawke merely flashed him her signature grin, grabbed his wrist and ran off down the road.

"Come on!"

They stopped at a small, dingy alley only a few minutes from his ruined clinic. Anders hesitated, apprehension on his face but Hawke strode fearlessly down the alley. It was pure luck she had found this place. Okay, if she was being honest, Carver had found it – not her. But that was a detail and details were unimportant. All that mattered was Anders' reaction.

The alley opened up into a dim junction that had seen better days. Hawke wasn't paying any attention to that, she didn't care. She was staring at the building directly before her.

"Well? What do you think? It's got all your access points," she said, pointing to the roads that intersected in front of the building. "It's still in Darktown and it's off the main Templar routes, by a fair way, I believe. As for the building itself, it was originally built for holding slaves, which is why it's survived since the Imperium was here. You'd have to check out the inside more thoroughly yourself but – and this is the main thing – it has a secret passage!"

Anders turned to her then, his expression wide and a little confused as he worked to take it all in.

"A what?"

"A secret passage! It leads directly to my family's estate! See, we think the estate used to be owned by smugglers, before the Amells claimed it as their own. Carver and Bethany and I have spent a lot of time exploring to see just how many secret passages we can find. These passages lead all over the city but this was the only one that led out to Darktown – right into the back of that building, actually. We didn't have any use for it, we frequent Lowtown more than Darktown. But you see, Anders. It's perfect for you! Your patients have plenty of access points, especially to escape if the Templars show up. And most importantly, _you_ have a way to escape if you need it!"

He looked back at the run-down building, a new light sparking in his eyes.

"Show me this passage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sure. Who doesn't love a spirit-possessed mage showing up for tea?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I find it very fitting that the first chapter posted in the new year should be #11.
> 
> Also, holy guacamole! I started this fic in December 2016? Really?? And I've still barely scratched the surface of all the chaos I have planned for it??? Yikes. Guess it's time to start writing some more.

It was perfect.

Well, maybe not perfect, but it was far more than Anders had ever hoped to find. After inspecting the building from top to bottom, front to back, he had decided that it was exactly what he needed. The foundations were solid and the structure was sound. The building needed work – a lot of work – but it was in a far better state than his ruined clinic, despite the layers of filth that covered everything.

_This Hawke has proven to be more advantageous than anticipated._

Anders allowed himself a smile at the sentiment, silently agreeing. He never would have predicted this turn of events from that first brief encounter with Hawke and her sister in his clinic, all those days ago.

"So? Do you like it?" Hawke asked as he came back to the main room of the building, waiting there with her arms folded. She was cocky, one hip tilted in a manner so casual and so self-assured that he could not restrain the smile that tugged at his lips.

"It's incredible," he said honestly. "I can't believe you've found me this place, let alone that it exists! But, that secret passage. Are you sure you're comfortable with me using it? You said it leads to your family's estate. I don't want to intrude upon your privacy."

Hawke waved her hand flippantly.

"You're part of the crew now, so stop worrying. Besides, I more imagined the passage to be a place where you would hide from Templars until the danger had passed. But by all means! Feel free to drop in and visit whenever you like. You'll be much more fun at dinner than some of the other guests I'm forced to entertain."

"Sure. Who doesn't love a spirit-possessed mage showing up for tea?"

It was meant to be harshly sarcastic, a caustic reminder of just who he was and how he could not mix with the outside world. Yet Hawke threw her head back and laughed. Anders' breath caught in his lungs and his heart stuttered in his chest.

Did she have any idea how beautiful she was when she did that?

"Exactly! It will make for a riot of small talk!" Still giggling to herself, Hawke shook her head and shot him a look that he found hard to interpret. "So you like this place. Good. Do you want to use it permanently or just temporarily while we repair your old clinic?"

Anders hardly had to think about it.

"Permanently. It has so much more to offer than the last place. You know, I really can't believe I didn't find it sooner myself." His eyes drifted over the filthy building, seeing the potential it had to offer.

"Great! I'll let Varric know and he'll reschedule all the development work to happen here, instead. You'll be directly involved, of course. You can tell the construction crew exactly how you'd like everything. If you want another wall here or you want a wall taken out – they'll fix it up however you like."

Anders' head spun with the possibilities and he turned back to Hawke in disbelief.

"How can you afford all of this, again?" he asked suspiciously but Hawke simply gave another carefree laugh.

"Maybe I'll tell you one day. I mean, it's not a big secret but a bit of mystery is good for any relationship. Who knows? Play your cards right and I might just show you myself."

She was flirting. The arch of her eyebrow and the quirk to her lips told him just that and Anders found his heart lurching in response. How long had it been since he indulged in something like flirting with an attractive woman? Sure, he could flirt with Isabela but … they both knew it was meaningless fun. No strings attached. With Hawke, Anders felt like it could possibly be something more.

That thought made his pulse race.

He cleared his throat and looked away, eyes scanning over the building in search of a distraction. Nothing, so he opted for a change in topic.

"Thank you for all this." Anders dared to glance at her again. "Really. It means a lot and it will make a large difference to the people down here."

"I'm glad. There's too much pain in Kirkwall. Whatever I can do to help change that, I will."

It was the most serious Anders thought he had ever seen her. Hawke turned her gaze back onto the dingy building and Anders seized the opportunity to stare. From her paint-smeared face to her scuffed and worn boots, she was the most unexpected enigma to ever cross his path. And even now with all he had learnt about her, Anders felt sure he was barely scratching the surface.

They lingered at the building a little longer before Hawke suggested they return and inform Varric of the changes. Anders fell into step easily beside her, quietly amused as she automatically lengthened her stride to try and accommodate him.

Anders shortened his own stride, knowing all too well how long his legs were.

"So, I have a question for you," Hawke said as they walked. Anders could not help but arch an eyebrow as he looked down into that beguiling face.

"What is it?" he asked warily.

"The work on your new clinic is going to take time. At least a week, I would say. And I'd hate for you to be stuck at the Hanged Man with nothing to do for all that time. So I was wondering how you'd feel about joining me and my crew on some of our jobs? Only low-level, nothing too serious. But it would get you out of the pub and give you a chance to get to know the crew about better. What do you think?"

She smiled winningly up at him but Anders was not about to let himself be so easily swayed. He avoided her gaze as he rolled the request over in his mind, weighing it up from all sides.

The people of Darktown needed him. Could he really afford to leave them? Yet until he had a functional clinic, what could he really do for them?

_This does not further our cause._

He rolled his eyes. Of course Justice chose now to share his opinion.

_If we know her people better, we will know their value to us better. And who knows? Maybe we will discover some chances to right injustices._

_This is unlikely. You think it to yourself all the time, she is a gang leader._

Justice may have a point there. Still, Hawke had done nothing but prove herself to him so far. Anders decided that maybe it was worth the risk.

"Alright," he finally said and Hawke raised her eyebrows in surprise, as though she had expected him to answer with a negative. "I'll give it a try. But I won't do anything that could hurt the people of Lowtown or Darktown, I won't."

"I would never ask you to," Hawke replied, a mild note of hurt in her voice.

"So then … what kind of jobs do you take?"

Hawke smiled then, her good humour readily flooding back to her.

"A whole range of jobs, to be quite honest. There's no better way to explain them than by experiencing them for yourself. So how about tomorrow? First thing in the morning?"

He sputtered, taken off-guard by how quickly she was moving.

"But my clinic! I need to review the plans with the construction team and-"

"Oh I know. You can do that today. And we'll be back by tomorrow night, so you can go over any changes that the team might need your approval for. So? Want to tag along on a journey of mystery and adventure?"

The spark in her bright blue eyes was entirely irresistible. Anders felt his resolve crumbling and he gave a lopsided smile.

"Oh alright. I guess I can see how it goes."

"That's the spirit!" Hawke slapped him on the back then took off at a jog, seemingly for the sheer joy of it. Anders shook his head in disbelief yet followed after her.

* * *

This was a terrible idea. He never should have agreed to this.

" _Move,_ mage!"

Anders bit back a yelp as the surly elf ran past him, practically shouldering him out of the way. Hawke spared him a glance before giving a crooked smile and leaping into the fray.

"Just follow my lead," came a calm voice at his other side. Anders looked at Bethany as she lifted her staff and began to weave a powerful force spell – before unleashing it on the slavers ahead of them.

"It's not my first fight," Anders said, feeling the need to defend himself.

"I know. But it's your first with us." Bethany's voice was completely calm and unruffled, as though they were discussing this on a leisurely stroll, rather than in the heat of battle. "Watch out for my sister. She's reckless and too used to our family's style of magic. She trusts us to predict where she'll be and not hit her. And as you can see, she's extending that same trust to you. So don't let her down!"

"Right," Anders muttered through clenched teeth. He fired an arcane bolt at one slaver that tried to edge away from the main cluster, knocking the man back.

"You won't ever have to worry about Fenris," Bethany continued, twirling her staff before slamming it down to unleash a barrage of fire. "He's got a kind of sixth sense when it comes to magic. He always seems to know where we are, where we're aiming our attacks and how to keep out of the way. It was kind of creepy at first but now it just makes sense. Y'know, with all that lyrium in his skin."

Anders faltered, his focus breaking away from the battle as he cast a shocked glance at Bethany.

"Lyrium?" he cried, aghast.

"Oh. Didn't you know?"

There was no time to contemplate her off-handed comment, as Justice swelled in him and urged him to refocus. Anders lifted his staff just in time to block the bullets that a slaver fired at them. Fenris darted to that slaver with alarming speed, a snarl visible on his face even from this distance as his sword cleaved the man in half.

In rather short order, the battle was over. Anders felt a tremor in his hands as Hawke and Fenris rejoined him and Bethany. Various wounds marked both their bodies but Hawke did not seem to notice or care.

"Well! That was an exciting spot of fun. Really gets the blood pumping. Oh, speaking of blood – Anders, do you mind?" Hawke lifted an arm, exposing a deep gash against her side that she had been hiding.

"Why did you not say something sooner?" he demanded, rushing forward to press his hands over the wound and focus his mana.

"No time in the heat of battle," Hawke replied with a cajoling tone. "Besides, I look far more heroic with blood and wounds all over me."

"You may think that now but one minute too long and you'd look like nothing more than another dead corpse on the ground."

She shot him a look at that, picking up on the bite in his words that he had not been able to hold back. Anders avoided her gaze and mentally chastised himself. What was he doing? He had to focus! He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to block out her sharp, intelligent eyes.

"He's right, Marian. Mother would not approve of you being so reckless, no matter the cause. You should take greater care in the future," Bethany scolded and Anders felt Hawke shift her weight as she rolled her eyes.

"I'm fine. Besides, this is why we needed a healer in the crew. Injuries are inevitable. Now we don't need to worry about them so much!"

"That's a rather flippant attitude towards my abilities," Anders remarked.

"Not from where I'm standing. At least now I have an excuse to get your hands on my body."

The shameless flirt was so unexpected that Anders found himself choking back a shocked laugh. Bethany exclaimed her outrage and slapped her sister's shoulder, drawing the attention away from Anders as the siblings bickered.

Deep though the wound was, it was simple enough to repair. Hawke's ribs had done their job of protecting her most vital organs and Anders quickly pulled away, the skin completely knitted together again under his care.

"Flawless, just as expected," Hawke said with an easy grin before turning to the surly warrior hanging back a step. "Your turn, Fenris."

The elf arched an eyebrow, his expression becoming decidedly blank.

"I am fine."

"Says the blood running down your limbs? Come on, Fenris, what's the point of having a healer around if he doesn't heal your wounds?"

Fenris folded his arms but the movement only caused more blood to flow from a bullet wound in his shoulder.

"I do not want his magic on me."

"Fenris-"

"Not yet. I do not know him nor do I trust him. He has hardly been with us for any time and yet you throw your support behind him so readily. Careful, Hawke. You cannot trust an apostate simply because they are Fereldan."

Hawke's hands flexed, her shoulders tensing as she turned to face Fenris head-on. Anders held his breath, feeling as though there was some subtext he was missing. Bethany said nothing, merely sighing and watching.

"Was I wrong to trust you, Fenris? Was I wrong to show you loyalty so soon after knowing you?"

"If I had been a mage-"

"I would have done exactly the same thing! And you know it! So let it go. Anders is a part of the crew now and you should let him heal you."

"There is no need," Fenris insisted stubbornly. "If you truly wish for me to receive medical attention, Bethany can heal me."

"Oh, Fenris, that's really not a good idea," Bethany said with an apologetic tone. Hawke snorted.

"That's an understatement. She's more likely to open up a new wound than close an existing one! Now stop being so proud and just accept a little help."

"Never."

"Fenris, I swear-"

"I don't have to use magic!" Anders interjected. The arguing pair turned their frustrated gazes to him and he gestured to Fenris. "I know you don't like magic. That's fine, I don't have to use magical healing. But Hawke is right, you should have your injuries tended to. With your permission, I can clean and bandage the wounds. That will last you long enough until we can get back to my clinic and I can stitch …"

His voice trailed off. What clinic? The old one was mere rubble and the new one had not been built yet.

"You know mundane medicine?" Fenris' voice drew Anders out of his melancholy thoughts.

"Of course. No better way to hide from Templars than to heal like any other doctor."

Fenris sighed but gave a short nod.

"Very well. You may examine me."

Anders worked quickly as he sensed the lingering disdain from the strange elf. Yet he could not ignore how the mana in his body buzzed in response to the lyrium in Fenris' skin, nor how Justice suddenly slammed through his mind, causing him to wince.

_This is … intriguing._ _To survive such a procedure is not something I would have expected from a mortal._

Anders blocked Justice out, frowning as he found what he was looking for in the wound.

"The bullet is still lodged in your shoulder," he said to Fenris even as he began pulling out gauze and bandages from his pack. "I can't remove it here so you'll have to wait until …" Anders sighed in frustration. "I wish I had my clinic!"

"We still have some supplies that we recovered from your old clinic," Hawke spoke up. "Varric has stored them at the Hanged Man."

"Then that is where I'll have to perform the extraction," said Anders and tied the bandage off with a firm knot. "How does that feel?"

Fenris moved his arm and for a moment, Anders thought he caught a glimpse of an impressed expression on the elf's face – but it was gone too fast for him to be sure.

"It will do," Fenris said in a monotone voice.

"Wonderful! See, Fenris? I told you he would be handy to have around!" Hawke slapped them both on the back before spinning around and wandering off to the bodies of the dead slavers. Bethany went to help her sister and together, they searched the bodies for any valuables or communications with other slavers.

"Alright, all done here!" Hawke announced as she and Bethany finally returned. Her fingers tapped hastily at the phone in her hand before she looked up with a grin. "Varric just confirmed a clean up crew is on its way so _we_ can be on _our_ way. Anyone fancy a drink? On me, of course."

The banter was light and easily flowing as they made their way out of the bowels of Darktown and back to the Hanged Man. Anders found himself observing more than participating and the more he watched, the larger a small ball of warmth inside him grew.

Hawke and her crew were strange, there was no doubt about that. But they were also invigorating, bringing a freshness to his life that Anders had not felt for quite some time. He was barely aware of the slow smile that spread its way across his face. Maybe, just maybe, working with Hawke and her crew would be more fun than he had expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best. And your comments help keep me inspired, so please don't hold back!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke covered her face with one hand, rubbing furiously at her eyes. She did not need this right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is the 18th and that's one of my favourite numbers so it's a perfect day to update!  
> Also I'm distracting myself from rushing into posting the first chapter of a new WIP I have. Self control? Not one of my strong points.

"Marian, you were meant to be at the estate this morning! You had a meeting with that de Launcet boy. Do you know how embarrassing it was to have to make your apologies and turn him away?"

Hawke stifled a sigh, holding the phone slightly away from her ear as her mother ranted. As much as she loved her mother, she despised the matchmaking attempts that she was so regularly forced to endure. For once, at least, she had a legitimate reason for skipping out.

If only her mother would believe her.

"I'm sorry, Mother, but business with the crew could not wait-"

"How am I mean to keep up the reputation that my eldest daughter is a respectable member of noble society if she does not even receive her suitors? At this rate all the eligible men in Kirkwall will be too offended to approach!"

"Mother! I truly am sorry but I have urgent business to take care of!"

"And yet another day passes where you remain single and unwed." Leandra let out a disappointed noise. "I know you are busy with your secret business, darling, but would it kill you to make an effort?"

Hawke covered her face with one hand, rubbing furiously at her eyes. She did not need this right now.

"If it makes you feel any better, Mother, my day will not be completely wasted. I shall be in the company of Prince Sebastian Vael, heir to the throne of Starkhaven."

"Starkhaven!" There was a tone of excitement and alarm in Leandra's voice now. "Well, that is something. Although I cannot see how such an alliance would benefit you? I know you want to stay in Kirkwall but if you married the prince of Starkhaven, you would have to move there-"

Bethany suddenly appeared in front Hawke, an intense expression on her face. Hawke rolled her eyes and tried to tamp down on her rising irritation, knowing exactly what her sister wanted.

"Mother, I will be happy to discuss this with you later. But right now I really have to go!" Hawke insisted.

"Oh, very well then. If you must. Stay safe, dear – and make sure you have a chaperone if you go out in public with the prince!"

Hawke hung up hastily, shuddering at the mere suggestion of romantic intentions between her and Sebastian. There was nothing of the sort, though it would not do to tell her mother at this point in time. Bethany, however, was keen to continue the conversation.

"Spending the day with Prince Sebastian Vael?" Bethany questioned, her eyes boring into Hawke. "When? Where? Why did I not hear about this sooner?"

"It was a last minute thing, Bethany. And it is not a social call, it is business. Speaking of, I am short on time."

She tried to dodge around her sister, eyes fixed on the stairs that would lead her up to the guest rooms of the Hanged Man. But Bethany would not be so easily dissuaded.

"Business! Does that mean he's coming … is he coming here?" Bethany seized her suddenly and Hawke yelped at the small sparks of magic on fingertips that her sister could not contain. "Marian, when will he be here?"

"Any time now but I still have things to sort out before he gets here – and you are getting in my way! If it's so important to you, why don't you wait by the door for him?"

"Oh, no!" Bethany laughed a tad hysterically and stepped back, releasing Hawke. "I couldn't … He's a prince and I-"

"Uh, hello?"

The tentative voice came from behind them and Bethany's face paled before she glanced to look. Sebastian stood in the doorway of the Hanged Man, a strange expression of reluctance and uncertainty on his face.

"Sweet Maker preserve me," Bethany whispered and Hawke could not help the smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Hello Sebastian," Hawke replied in greeting. "And before you ask, yes, you are in the right place. Sorry, I'm just in the middle of something, I won't be long. But in the mean time, my _sister_ can show you around."

She shoved Bethany perhaps a little harder than necessary, but it served its purpose as Bethany bit back a squeak and snapped her mouth shut. She stumbled towards the polite man in the doorway, smiling nervously as a blush consumed her face.

Hawke did not wait to see the rest. She hurried up the stairs to Anders' room, knocking heavily. It opened barely a moment later and Anders regarded her with a weary face.

"Hawke? Is something wrong?" he asked, taking in her tense posture and tight expression.

"There's not a lot of time to explain," she plunged right in. "Long story short, I'm helping a friend with some people who have been trying to kill him. But we suspect dark magic is also at play and if that's the case, I could really do with a bit of _extra_ back up on our side?"

Anders looked puzzled for a moment, before understanding dawned and he took half a step back.

"You don't honestly mean Justice!" he hissed in shock.

"I do."

"I cannot always control him, Hawke! It is more dangerous to bring him out than it will be to face down a demon."

"Nope, I don't buy that. He killed two Templars, sure, but he did not harm two innocent children in the midst of all that. I'm confident that he is smart enough to know the difference between right and wrong even in a high paced situation."

"But-"

"In any case, it's a dangerous task and we will probably need a healer on hand." She paused now, taking in his bewildered and defensive expression and realising that she probably needed to be a bit gentler right now. "Look, I know I said I would not take you on any jobs that were too dangerous, but I'm asking you to consider it now. With the number of assassins involved and if our suspicions are correct about the magic, it would be suicide to go into something like this without a healer. So. Will you do it?"

"You do realise how early in the morning it is, don't you?" Anders grumbled as he rubbed a hand across his tired face.

"It's after nine, not early at all. And you're already dressed! Unless …" Her eyes swept over his rumpled form again, nose catching a faint whiff of body odour. "You haven't slept a wink, have you?"

"Uh, no. No, I haven't." He looked rather embarrassed to be caught out but Hawke took a step forward into his personal space, a frown of concern on her face.

"Anders, are you alright? It's not Justice or, I don't know, you're not sick, are you?"

"It's nothing like that," he said and offered a smile that was more genuine than she had been expecting. Warmth bloomed in her and her stomach did a flip. "Sometimes I get a little distracted by my work, that's all."

"To the point you forget to sleep for the entire night?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You were asking for my help on a dangerous job?"

Hawke held his gaze but decided to allow the change of subject. Any other time she would have gotten the truth out of him then and there but right now she was too pressed for time to indulge her curiosity.

"Yes. If you would. Please."

Anders sighed but nodded, already reaching for his staff. Hawke brightened in surprise; she had thought for sure he would take longer to think about it, then reject her.

"I suppose I can't say no. Justice says that the misuse of magic is an injustice that we have a responsibility to fix if we can."

"Ooh. For once I like what he has to say."

Anders followed her downstairs to where Bethany and Sebastian were deep in conversation. Bethany was no longer blushing and Sebastian seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying – but he looked up as soon as Hawke reappeared, apologising briefly to Bethany before standing up.

"This is Anders, he's a healer and he'll be joining us. Anders, this is Sebastian," Hawke said by way of introductions. Sebastian's eyes widened and lingered over the staff on his back.

"A healer! You mean he's an apostate?"

Irritation rose in Hawke. This was the true reason why she and Sebastian would never work romantically. He was too rigid, too strict when it came to following Chantry law.

"He's a part of my crew and that should be all that matters. You came to me for help, remember. And I make no secret of the kinds of people I have in my crew." She hesitated a beat, fixing Sebastian with a sharp gaze. "Is this going to be a problem?"

Sebastian was quiet for a moment, his eyes on Anders more than her. Hawke could sense the unease radiating off Anders, could hear as he shifted his weight. She glanced to Bethany behind Sebastian and saw the pained expression there. Anger burned in Hawke's chest and she knew that, no matter how valuable an alliance with him could be, if he answered _yes_ to her question right now, she would never work with him again.

"I – forgive me." Sebastian lowered his gaze and when he looked up again, there was a truly apologetic expression there. "I should not be so hasty to judge the aid that is offered me, especially not when it is offered freely."

"Not freely," Hawke corrected. "You promised a reward."

"That I did," Sebastian agreed with a small smile quirking his mouth. "Forgive me, Hawke, I meant no offence. I simply did not expect such an arrangement. But I shall not allow it to be a problem – unless this apostate falls prey to demons, of course."

Hawke could feel Anders' eyes burning into the back of her skull but she refused to look at him.

"Good. Then let's get this done."

"This is a smaller group than what I had expected, I must admit," Sebastian said as Hawke led him and Anders out of the Hanged Man.

"Aveline is meeting us in Hightown. But aside from that, I find working in smaller groups attracts less attention." There was an edge to her words, as though she was daring him to challenge her methods. Trained in the nuances of high society and politics, Sebastian picked up on it straight away.

"Of course. I did not mean to-"

"Let's just get there."

She was in no mood for his political correctness – besides, she had larger concerns, what with Anders practically burning a hole into the back of her head with his gaze. At least he waited until they had boarded the subway before hissing angrily into her ear.

"A Chantry brother? Are you insane?"

It was crowded on the subway and for once Hawke was glad of this, for the sheer press of people and the constant murmur of noise was more than enough to muffle their conversation.

"He pays extremely well," Hawke muttered back.

"But he is against mages existing outside of the Circle's control. How exactly am I meant to use Justice in front of him?"

"Maybe you won't need to! But it doesn't hurt to have you along, just in case."

Anders scoffed, muttering angrily under his breath and Hawke felt a sharp pang in her chest. She had not wanted to deceive him like this, had not even intended it. She had simply been too rushed for a proper explanation.

Though perhaps some part of her recognised that Anders would never have agreed to come if he knew who Sebastian really was.

The bulk of passengers thinned out considerably as they left Lowtown behind, picking up again as they traversed further into Hightown. They disembarked at the noble district and Hawke was relieved to see Aveline waiting nearby.

If nothing else, having the city Guard Captain with them would lend credibility – and immunity – to their cause. But aside from that Hawke had been missing her friend. Duties had kept Aveline away from assisting in the crew's business and Hawke was excited by the chance to fight by her friend's side again.

"No-one has been seen going in or out of the estate all day," Aveline reported as she fell into step with them. "But the number of complaints from neighbours has turned into a foot-high stack of paperwork on my desk. Whatever is going on, this better solve the problem once and for all."

"Let's hope so," Hawke agreed and flashed them all a reassuring smile. Yet her gut was tight and she fingered the concealed daggers at her waist nervously.

* * *

It was a mess. A complete and utter mess.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

"Move!"

"No … don't …"

"Shut up, Sebastian. Do it, Anders."

The pale glow of healing magic filled the dark room. Anders' face was set in a bitter frown as he worked but Hawke paid no attention to it right now. She was too busy pressing down on the deep wound in Sebastian's side.

Aveline held him down and Flora Harimann flitted nervously above them. Blood pulsed out around Hawke's fingers but she held her place, refusing to move and risk breaking Anders' concentration.

None of them had seen it coming. After defeating Lady Harimann and the desire demon that was controlling her, they had begun to return upstairs, a heavy silence between them. Freed from the demon's control but still confused and terrified out of her mind, Flora had snatched up a knife when she heard the approaching footsteps.

It was sheer bad luck that Sebastian had been the first one around the corner. He was despondent, absolutely devastated by such a betrayal coming from a close family friend. Hawke and the others had fallen back to give him space as he walked ahead. If only Hawke had stayed beside him …

She could not have the Prince of Starkhaven dying on her watch! Her eyes flicked up to Anders and she could see hints of blue flickering in his gaze. A fresh wave of magic washed out from him and her hairs stood on end from the force of it.

Slowly, the glow of healing magic dimmed and Sebastian slumped on the floor, no longer struggling against Aveline.

"That will have to do for now," Anders said as he sat back, panting. "He needs further attention but it will take too long to do it here. It's best if we get him out." Anders shot a glance to Flora and Hawke understood his meaning straight away.

"Right. Sebastian, how are you feeling? Can you stand?"

He was still too pale for her liking but Sebastian nodded through a grimace. Hawke and Aveline helped pull him up and he took a moment to steady himself, leaning heavily on them as he shot Anders a look full of mixed, conflicting emotions.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Sebastian, please-"

"Not now," Hawke said bluntly as Flora tried to plead her case again. "We're leaving. _If_ he wants to talk things out with you, he'll come find you later."

She pushed Flora back and the woman staggered, her face crumpled with guilt. Hawke led the way, daggers in hand and checking around every corner this time.

"How will we get him back to the Hanged Man?" Aveline asked as she half-carried Sebastian along.

"Already on it," Hawke replied. "Carver will bring the truck, I just have to message him."

"He better be quick," Anders said with a worried tone. "I don't like his colour."

She risked a glance back and saw Anders pulling back Sebastian's eyelid as they walked. The prince was too weak to protest or push him off and cold tension twisted in Hawke's gut.

"The Hanged Man be damned," she growled and pulled out her phone. "He'll never make it."

Within minutes, they were out the front of the Harimann estate. Carver arrived moments later and they quickly loaded into the truck. Carver drove wildly through Hightown, drawing a curse from Anders' lips. Hawke did not care; she was used to her brother's driving and it served a purpose now.

The large, impressive gates of the Amell estate loomed up before them, automatically opening as the truck got close enough. Down a sweeping drive edged in carefully trimmed hedges, the truck finally came to a halt in front of the large double doors that marked the entrance. Hawke twisted in her seat and caught sight of Anders' awed expression.

"It's not quite the way I imagined introducing you to my home, but when does anything ever go according to plan?" She tried to offer a joking smile but it fell flat. Sebastian moaned in pain and Hawke's gut clenched anxiously. "Come on, let's get him inside."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to take a darker turn, eh? Yeahhhh that was kinda inevitable even though I'm trying to keep it light and fun. Expect more darkness ahead.
> 
> So! What was your favourite part? Let me know!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was beautiful when she was stubborn.
> 
> The thought was so unexpected and intrusive that Anders almost blushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning to spend an entire chapter on this but it happened anyway? Ah well, that's just how it is sometimes!
> 
> Warnings for medical descriptions/blood/etc in this chapter. I don't think it's too gory or explicit but everyone's different.

Hawke's home was beyond anything that Anders had imagined. Lavish, luxurious, opulent. Everything about it was explicitly _wealthy_ and Anders found it incredibly difficult to reconcile this estate with the woman he was growing to know.

Not that he had time to wonder over her riches right now. There were far more pressing concerns.

"What's better for you? Table or bed?" Hawke asked him as she led the way into the house. Carver and Aveline carried Sebastian between them, the prince incoherent as his head lolled and his eyes rolled back.

"Table," Anders replied swiftly and Hawke nodded.

"Marian? What's- oh, my!"

Anders spared a glance for the older woman who bore a striking resemblance to Bethany. From her fine clothes and the expression of horror on her face, he expected her to wilt into the background and leave them be. But a steely glint entered her eyes and the woman surged forward.

"You'll need towels and hot water. Orana!"

The woman rushed off ahead of them and Anders could hear her hastily preparing things and giving orders. They were not far behind, finally entering a beautiful dining room with an elegant oak table as the centrepiece.

Polished silverware and vases of flowers decorated the darkly varnished table. Anders faltered at the sight but Hawke was swift, her arm swiping across the table and sending all of the expensive items clattering to the floor.

Aveline and Carver lifted Sebastian onto the table. Anders pushed his surprise aside and rushed to his patient. The healing he had performed at the Harimann estate had reopened, and hot blood pulsed out of it. Just as he thought. The wound was deep and ran through organs, not just flesh.

This kind of wound was difficult to heal on his best day in his clinic, surrounded by all his medical supplies and potions. But here? In Hawke's home with only whatever items she had in the house? Anders was not hopeful for a successful recovery, even with the aid of Justice.

"Put this under his head. Here, Carver, bathe his forehead. And keep him still! We need to-"

"Mother, it's alright," Hawke interrupted the older woman who had returned with towels in her arms. "Anders is a spirit healer, he'll take care of it."

"Your mother is right," Anders said as he spared them a glance, barely noticing the small elf girl who hovered behind Hawke's mother. "This will be incredibly painful. Even if he falls unconscious, his body will have reflexive reactions to try and protect itself. You will need to hold him still. One wrong move could kill him."

"We're on it," Carver said firmly as he laid a thick arm across Sebastian's chest. "You just do your work."

That was more than enough for Anders and he quickly summoned his magic and poured it into Sebastian's body. He had to stop the bleeding but first, he had to determine where the blood was coming from.

Anders closed his eyes and allowed the magic to guide him. Trying to explain his healing to others often felt impossible; how did he explain something that was as natural and intrinsic to him as breathing? The best he could describe it was like a mental impression of the wound or sickness that his magic transferred back to him. He could see it all in his mind, layer by layer, as his magic delved deeper.

He used this method now, exploring the alarming depth of the wound in Sebastian's right side. Anders had dealt with many stab wounds in the past; they often did not sink in this deep. Yet Flora had clearly been more terrified than they had thought.

The blade had gone straight through the liver and – Anders winced – had nicked the abdominal aorta.

"By the Maker, how did she get so unlucky?"

"Anders?"

"Sorry," he said, unaware he had spoken until Hawke's concerned voice cut through. "Flora, it was an extremely unlucky stab of hers. She hit him between the ribs and that's difficult enough but-"

"Can you heal him or not?"

"I … think so." Anders frowned, head tilting to the side as his magic wrapped around the damage in the aorta. "It will be difficult. She struck a main artery and there's a lot of stress on the wound. Even with magic, healing takes time and the new tissue needs to be strong enough to withstand the force of the blood in the artery."

"What can we do? What do you need?" Hawke sounded restless, desperate, and Anders was reminded that she was a woman of action. This standing and waiting would be killing her.

"I need a needle and thread, the stronger the thread but still fine, the better. I also need to get to the wound, his armour is in the way."

"On it," Hawke said. When Anders opened his eyes, he saw Hawke and Carver working together to strip Sebastian to the waist. The prince moaned in pain as the movements jostled him and a fresh flood of blood gushed from the wound.

Anders threw his magic at the wound, wrapping tighter around the aorta and constricting. Yet the force of the blood in the artery was immense and he could feel his magic struggling.

If he had not been a spirit healer, Sebastian would have already been dead.

_Justice, please,_ Anders begged and he felt the Fade energy stirring within him.

_I will do what I can._

There were gasps in the room around him and Anders knew they could all see the cracks in his skin and the otherworldly blue light. He ignored it all, focusing all his power and energy on the damaged artery.

Sweat dotted his forehead, sliding down to sting his closed eyes. Anders and Justice worked as one, weaving more and more strength around the artery and holding it there, allowing Sebastian's body to do the rest. The tissue was knitting back together slower than he would have liked but at least it was working.

He pulsed the healing magic into that small wound, strengthening the new tissue with every burst. If he did this right the first time, the new tissue would hold like it was meant to and Anders would not have to repeat the process. If he got it wrong … he did not want to think about that.

His hands trembled but he barely noticed, too intent on his work. Justice whispered encouragement to him and reassured him that they had been successful. Anders just had to let go to prove it.

Anders hated this part. It was so risky, hanging the patient's fate on the scales for one terrifying moment. But it had to be done so, with a deep breath, he pulled his magic back from the artery.

The new tissue held firm; Anders sighed in relief.

"There," he said and opened his eyes once more. Tense eyes stared back at him.

"Is that it?" Hawke asked in confusion. "But there's still a hole in his side!"

"No, that's just the worst injury healed," Anders said with a shake of his head. "Well … there's a stab wound straight through his liver which I have to repair, but the aorta is fixed. That's why he was bleeding so heavily and if I hadn't closed that wound, he'd be dead by now."

Sweat dripped off his face and he swiped at it. Anders had no idea how much time had passed since they arrived here and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. It was always like this. Delving into healing magic so deeply disconnected him from the physical world.

"Are you alright?" Hawke asked in concern. "Are you feeling strong enough?"

"I'm fine," Anders replied with a smile that felt shaky even to him. "I've got to keep going."

"Maybe you should rest. You don't look so great."

"No, I have to heal this now. Leaving the wound increases the risk of infection and that could kill him in a far more painful way than the aorta wound. I'll be fine."

"You won't be fine if you run yourself into the ground for this! How can you heal Sebastian if you collapse from over-exertion?"

"Hawke-"

"Bethany, how many lyrium potions do you have on hand right now?" Anders looked over at the young woman in surprise; he had not even realised Bethany was in the house.

"Three or four, I think."

"Go get them all," Hawke ordered and her sister hurried out. Anders tried to protest when Bethany returned but Hawke left him no choice. She unstoppered the potion and held it to his lips. Sighing, Anders drank it down and felt the rush of instant recharge through his mana stores.

It had been so long since he used a lyrium potion. They were notoriously hard to get hold of in general, let alone here in Kirkwall! But he remembered now exactly why they were so highly coveted by the Circle.

"Thank you, that helps a lot," he admitted before focusing on Sebastian again. Blood still welled out of the wound but it was not the furious rush like it had been before. Closing his eyes once more, Anders summoned fresh healing energy and threw himself back into it.

* * *

By the time Anders tied off the last stitch by hand, he was trembling and exhausted. The lyrium potions had helped beyond measure, as the damage to the liver was more extensive than he had expected. And even after all the internal cuts were closed and he was ready to stitch up skin, he took time to search for any foreign bacteria or infection that might already be setting in.

Of course there was bacteria. Drawing it out took time, energy and focus. Yet Anders had done it and now, as he sank into a chair with a heavy thud, he was glad it was over.

Hawke's mother had taken over now. She was surprisingly skilled with the care of such wounds, meticulously cleaning around the stitches with the hot water and towels, before applying a dressing and bandaging the area. From the ease which she worked, Anders knew she had done this before.

"So he'll live?" Hawke asked as she sat in the dining chair next to him. Anders nodded, eyes drifting to Sebastian's face.

"He'll need to rest for a few days, just to be sure. And I'll want to check him daily. But yes, he should be fine."

"Wow. I have to admit, Anders, that was the most incredible thing I've ever seen. I knew spirit healers were something else but … you took it to the next level."

Such praise was not unfamiliar to him and he waved it off humbly.

"l couldn't have done it without you, Hawke. Those lyrium potions gave me the strength to persevere. Without them, who knows?"

"Thank Bethany, not me." Hawke paused, fixing him with a strange expression. "I have to admit, though. Not that I know much about spirit healing or mana or whatever, but is this normal? To be as exhausted as you are after healing an injury like that?"

Anders sighed and looked away. He had hoped she would not pick up on it but it appeared that, once again, Hawke was too sharp for her own good.

"It's not … ideal," he finally said and Hawke snorted.

"You're going to have to do better than that."

"We're ready to move him to a guest room," Aveline interrupted and Hawke quickly stood.

"Carefully," Anders said sternly, moving to his own feet. "He needs to be moved as carefully and gently as possible. He's unconscious for now and I'd like to keep it that way. And if you jostle those stitches too much-"

"We know." Hawke flashed him a reassuring grin. "Don't worry, this isn't the first time we've moved someone like this. Carver?"

Anders forced himself to stand back and watch as Hawke, Carver and Aveline all worked together to slowly lift Sebastian. Hawke took him by the shoulders, Aveline took his legs, and Carver took his hips. Moving in sync, they steadily left the dining room and headed to a guest room.

Anders could not stop himself from following. Even as Sebastian was laid in the plush bed and the covers drawn up around him, Anders felt the urge to scan him with magic once more, to check the stitches and bandages. He held himself back; Sebastian was in good hands now and Anders was really too worn out to be using any more magic.

"Alright, your turn now!"

Blinking, Anders realised Hawke was addressing him.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Come on, I'll get you set up in the room next door. I'm sure you'll want to be close to Sebastian, just in case anything happens."

"Oh no, Hawke, I couldn't," Anders protested as she dragged him into the next room. "I can't impose on you like this. I should just return to the Hanged Man."

"Shush, you didn't sleep last night, Anders. And you just performed difficult magic to save Sebastian's life. You've more than earnt a bit of rest! Now get in that bed and don't come out for a couple of hours at least!"

She was beautiful when she was stubborn.

The thought was so unexpected and intrusive that Anders almost blushed. He looked away, coughing awkwardly to try and dislodge his thoughts. But when he looked back Hawke was still standing there, hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised in that manner that said he would have an easier time lifting a mountain than changing her mind. Anders felt himself slumping in defeat.

"If you're sure …"

"More than sure. Get some rest, Anders. We'll talk more later."

That simple sentence elicited more dread in him than he had expected. Hawke exited the guest room and as he sat on the edge of the bed, Anders wondered if he was wise to trust her with himself – or if he was only putting her at greater risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please feel free to drop a comment below! :)


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